


Revenge As Cold As Space

by MsMockingbird



Series: The Mockingverse [24]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Hawkeye (Comics), Mockingbird (Marvel) - Fandom, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Captivity, F/M, GOTG1mostlyhappenedbutRonanisn'tdead, Psychological Torture, Steveloseshiscool, Swearing, Torture, YonduisdeadthoughwhatcanIsay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-01-31 22:59:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12691941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsMockingbird/pseuds/MsMockingbird
Summary: Set directly after "Escape Room" in the Mockingverse.The Guardians of the Galaxy, mid-heist, get drawn into Ronan the Accuser's desire to wreck vengeance on the Terran who managed to scare him off of Earth.Avengers! In! Spaaaaaaacccceeeeeeee!





	1. Petey Don't Hold

Peter "Star Lord" Quill handed the data cube he'd pickpocketed off their mark to Gamora in a picture perfect brush pass and then proceeded to meander through the Grand Marketplace, pretending to shop.

"Petey don't hold," he quipped to himself in English. Amateur mistake, letting the guy who did the lift retain the goods. If anyone had seen something suspicious or suspected he'd stolen the item they could search him till the Skrulls came home. The data cube was probably back at the Milano already, being stripped to its core by Rocket. He'd just wander for a while, make sure no one was following him and then head back. The Guardians would be off Ashor and on their way to a substantial payout-- 

A human sized insect humped past him, walking on two of its six legs, headed to the center of the Marketplace.

Vrellnexian. What were they doing here? Yondu had hated them--they were slave traders, enough said--and Quill had picked up on his disdain.

Despite himself, he followed the truncated centipede like creature, drifting closer and closer to the cattle pens at the center of the Marketplace. Some of them were literal cattle pens, stocked with food animals. 

Some held sentient creatures, from all across the galaxy, waiting to be sold into slavery.

Quill loathed them. Every time he was near the place he wanted to run roughshod over every guard and slave trader and start breaking chains and smashing cages. He promised himself some day he would. Today though, as he shadowed the insects--the first one had been joined by two more--his discomfort felt different. Why? He didn't speak their language well but he'd heard something...

The crowd swirled erratically and Quill slipped closer to his marks, listening to their guttural chittering. In the midst of the sounds he heard a word...in English. Then he heard it again and a very cold sweat broke out along his hair line.

 _Please be wrong please be wrong please be wrong..._ he muttered in his head as they all passed under a wide archway into the auction area.

On a raised platform in the center, surrounded by a huge, baying crowd of onlookers and buyers and guards were seven..oh, gods, they were humans. There were a number of species who looked like Terrans--the light-skinned Kree minority, a lot of Xandarians and Nova Corps, others here and there--but Quill could practically feel the Terran half of him reacting with joy seeing these people. They were from Earth he was sure. 

Five men, two women. Two of the men and the taller woman were blonds, ranging from the biggest man's bright gold to the woman's deep yellow to the other man's sandy shock of hair. The other three men had dark hair. The black man was lean and wiry, with the build of a runner; the smallest guy had a neat spade beard; the other guy had...did he have a metal arm? It appeared to be hanging uselessly down his side. The last person was a woman with hair so bright red it looked like her head was on fire.

All of them were chained by the neck to posts on the stage, and wearing nothing more than...bathing suits. They were all in various styles of bathing suits.

Just so that he was absolutely sure Quill edged around until he could see the faces of the people on sale.

As he got his new vantage point someone in the front of the crowd shouted something really crude, directed at the women. The biggest man, the blond, his face set in a mask of cool fury nonchalantly ripped his collar off the post, then off his neck and whipped the pieces into the crowd, downing the shouter. He was kicked and punched to the ground by an avalanche of guards immediately afterwards before being re-secured to the post by his neck again, this time with his hands chained behind him. 

Quill faded back till he found a corner of relative quiet and activated his mask to hide that he was talking, his comm channel coming up automatically.

"Yes, Quill?" rumbled Drax. "Have you located a female with which to fornicate, as you were discussing earlier?"

"Well, yes and no," Quill said, his voice a bit higher than usual. "Gamora back?"

"I am," the Deadliest Woman in the Galaxy said in the background.

"Can you ask Rocket to look around and see if, oh, I don't know, the Dark Aster is inbound to the planet?"

"Ronan?" Gamora snapped. "He's coming for us?"

"Oh, no, it's worse than that. I'm at the slave market and there are seven Terrans up for sale."

"Yeah, so?" yelled Rocket from further away than Gamora. "Who cares if a bunch of humies got abducted? They always pick weirdo hicks anyway!"

"Yeah, this time they got a higher class of weirdo, Rocket. I think they got the Avengers."

"Oh, shit," said Gamora.


	2. Auction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Avengers don't have too many friends, amongst the Kree. Guess who's coming to make a few small purchases at the slave market?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Invasion, here on this site, details what Bobbi did to Ronan and his attempted take over of Earth

"What is even _happening_?" Tony muttered for the seventieth time since they'd all woken up in...well, in cages. 

In the cargo hold of an alien craft. 

In space. 

In their bathing suits. 

Which they were still wearing. 

In a slave market. 

For sale.

To aliens.

Steve's head hurt BAD, worse than anything since he was a kid and he had scarlet fever and couldn't open his eyes without the light making him scream with pain. He was this close to snapping at Tony to shut up when someone shouted something that he couldn't understand but was pretty clearly a crude comment directed at Bobbi and Nat. So he ripped off his collar and beaned the...guy?...person?...thing? in what he assumed was its face. It went down hard, and so did he but he took the beating almost happily. The adrenaline rush blocked some of the pain. 

The weird centipede things that had been running the ship they'd been on...yesterday? The day before?--his internal clock didn't think it was much longer than that--skittered over and said something to the...people running the market. There was a fuss and a bunch of the guards kicked and shoved a big space clear off to one side. A few minutes later they all heard the sound of a ship coming in for a landing. It swept down like a big bug into the clearing, black and shiny. 

"Fuck," gasped Bobbi from the end of the line of Avengers, echoed by Nat. Then Clint started swearing viciously. 

"What? What's going on?" Bucky hissed.

Steve clenched his jaw, not wanting to say it out loud. It was Tony who answered the Winter Soldier.

"Kree ship. And they don't like us." He nodded at Bobbi. "They really don't like her, you know?"

Bucky narrowed his eyes, nodding. "Okay, right. Right I remember that."

Steve turned his head as far as he could, feeling the collar cutting into his neck. 

At the end of the line, Bobbi was stock still, her mobile intelligent face frozen into a bland mask. Sam was next to her, then Nat. Then himself, Clint, Tony and Bucky at the other end. 

"M-m-m-m-m-m-might not be him," she stuttered, her lips barely moving. "B-b-b-b-b-b-big universe."

Then Korath the Pursuer stepped out of the open hatch and she moaned. 

They all appeared, one by one, the elite Kree fanatics who'd tried to conquer Earth (1). All either big and blue skinned, part of the Kree majority mono-culture or smaller, pink-skinned and nearly human like Phylla-Vell and a few subordinates. Ronan the Accuser appeared last, emerging from his vessel in slow dignity. The Kree warlord was massive, over seven feet tall, his hulking form bulked out further with a powered exoskeleton suit of armor. He cradled a new version of his war hammer against his chest, Hawkeye having destroyed his last one before he could use it to crush Bobbi's skull back on Earth. His face was stern and his eyes deeply intelligent. 

They lit up visibly as he took in the captive humans, slipping over one to the next until they reached Bobbi. Then they got positively avaricious and he picked up his pace, striding through the rapidly scattering crowd like they weren't even there, his guards and subordinates scrambling to keep up. He hopped onto the platform lightly, settled in front of the blond woman, searching her face, letting his hammer rest against his leg.

Steve could see she was afraid. It was eloquent in her posture, her set mouth. But she settled her shoulders back and looked up at Ronan as though she barely knew him. They stared at each other for a long time, the noise of the market swirling around them but not breaking over their bubble of cold silence.

Then Bobbi's mouth quirked and Steve's own lips popped open to tell her 'no'.

"Feeling better there, sport?" she asked him, her voice clear, loud and so devoid of respect she might be talking to a slime mould on the bottom of her shoe.

He hit her, a whipping backhand across the face that threw her to one side and the end of her neck chain. She sagged down semi-conscious with the metal cutting into her neck, choking tight, blood drooling from her mouth. Every single other Avenger jerked to the end of their own chains, snarling with rage as a group. Sam nearly got a hand on the huge Kree from where he was. 

Ronan studied the convulsing woman as one might study a bug dying from poison spray, then reached out a hand and tucked his fingers under her chin, lifting up her head. He'd slashed her bottom lip open from the waterfall of blood on her chin but that seemed to have been the only damage, done with clinical precision since he could have killed her with the blow if he wanted. She started to breath normally again. Her eyelids fluttered like she was dreaming, then slowly opened.

Reckless, indomitable, fearless Mockingbird shone out, clear as day. "If you're going to get rough, sport, at least take me out for dinner first?" 

She spat a mouthful of blood in his face.

And Ronan the Accuser flinched. Publically. 

Steve's heart stopped. He was about to watch his beloved sister die, he knew it. Skull crushed by that hammer or just the massive blue hand now reaching up to wipe blood and mucus off its owners cheek. Out of the corner of his eye he thought Clint had started to vibrate fast enough to phase right through his chains.

Ronan's hand did contract around her throat, hauling her up a little bit. "Good, human, good. There is no joy in breaking your spirit unless you still possess it." His voice was gentle, friendly even, as though they were old friends.

He dropped her back down and turned to look at the rest of them, then gestured at his staff. Tanalath lumbered forward, her own war hammer prominent in her hands. 

"Which of them is her mate?" Ronan asked, gesturing down the line. 

"They all look the same to me, lord," rumbled the big woman.

At the exact same instant the rest of the Avengers independently realized what was about to happen and shouted at the same time "I am!"

All of them, including Nat; in fact, she shouted louder than Clint. 

At the back of the crowd, Steve heard a man loose a startled bark of laughter. So, someone out there spoke English. 

Phylla-Vell darted forward and whispered in Tanalath's ear, jabbing a finger at Clint and Steve. The higher status woman nodded and shooed her away. 

"One of--or perhaps both? Terran mating rituals are odd--of the males with adornments like hers, I am advised."

Ronan turned and looked at the two blond men, his eyes settling on Steve eventually. Steve straightened his chin and nodded firmly. Which the others all noticed.

Clint snarled and kicked the post he was chained to. "Nu-uh, Rogers, no way, you are not horning in on this, nope nope nope. Me me me me, it's me, I'm her mate, her husband. Me it's me."

Ronan smiled just a little, which made Steve think he'd been playing with them. "Will you take her place then?"

"Yes, sure, no problem, you leave her here and I'll go with you-shut the fuck up Bobbi!" Clint started his sentence in a normal tone and ended on a deranged howl that drowned out his wife's blood-clotted protests. "You shut the fuck up _FOR ONCE LITTLE BIRD AND LET ME PROTECT YOU LIKE I'M SUPPOSED TO._ " Bobbi's mouth closed, the chaos of emotions on her face moving so fast they were unreadable. 

Ronan rumbled a laugh. "Good, good. A fine brave pair of earth fowl for my net then." He waved a hand at the auction master. "This female and that male, we'll take them as arranged." One of the centipede like aliens reared up onto the platform and chittered at them both. Ronan cocked his head, nodding. "No, you can keep the full fee, and as well I cede possession of the others to you as well, for sale or retention as you see fit. Don't let anyone cheat you, though, these Terrans are superior--warriors, soldiers, technicians, clandestine operatives. Each should fetch a fine price to the right market." And now he smiled openly, cruelly. "Insure only that you keep them all well apart; sell them as widely as possible. As a group they can be....difficult."

Ice replaced Steve's spine at the thought: he and Sam, each alone on some alien world, conscripted to someone else's war, unable to speak the languages, unable to even tell what direction was headed home. Bobbi and Clint out there being tormented by this vicious man. Losing Bucky just after finding him, watching him dragged off to be a slave-killer, the fate he'd so painfully escaped on Earth. Nat, forced back into a life of abuse and cold terror. Tony, beaten and bullied into making engines of death again--that would rip the engineer apart. 

For the first time in a long time, Steve Rogers didn't know what to do. He stood frozen and empty, his thoughts a howling void as Galen-Kor hefted a bound Barton in each hand--by the scruff of their necks--hurried them away. They didn't even get a chance to speak to the rest of the team, so his last image of them was Bobbi's face covered in blood and Clint's with despair. 

The ship lifted off.

He'd lost them. He'd lost part of his team. Again. The rest of the team were all looking at him and all he could do was stare up into the weird alien sky and fight back tears.


	3. Playing Along

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On board the Dark Aster, Ronan takes the measure of Hawkeye.

The Kree didn't even bother to lock the Bartons up, once they were all on board the shuttle, though they left the neck chains on, loop around their throats. Galen-Kor just dumped them into two crash seats and one of the light-skinned servitors belted them in. They were still wearing the collars, and almost no clothes, and in Bobbi's case a face full of blood. She snuffled and coughed a few times, drawing frankly frightened looks from Korath and Yon-Rogg. Ronan had disappeared to some private room; the rest of the elites were in their own crash seats surrounding the humans.

As they ship shuddered and then steadied into its flight one of the servitors scurried over with a damp cloth of some odd silky material and started to brush it at Bobbi's face, drawing a surprised hiss of pain. Clint snatched it out of the man's hand and shoved him away. There was a collective aggressive bristle from the Kree. Clint sneered at them, then turned to his wife and gently cleaned the blood from her face, his free hand tangled in her hair. The golden strands still felt sticky with sea water at their base; he could smell salt and blood from her and fear-sweat from them both. 

Even terrified, his lizard brain thought she smelled like flowers and sex. 

She sighed and leaned into his hand, eyes closing. A purpling bruise on her left cheek, already swelling, became visible once he stroked away the sticky mess of blood and mucus. Clint prodded it lightly with a thumb. "Anything broken?"

"Don't think so, which is sorta impressive. He was making a point," she said. 

"You gave him a hell of start, there," Clint remarked, dabbing at the crusted cut on her lip and then leaving it as a bad job. If he cleaned the scab it would just start bleeding again. "I mean, you made him flinch in public."

She opened her eyes and studied him. "Mad at me?"

"Proud, little bird. Proud as a peacock." He leaned over, as far as the straps would let him. She met him half way, just enough they could brush noses for a moment. That would have to stand in for the kiss he wanted to give her.

"Are you done grooming your female, Terran?" ask Tanalth in a nasty tone, from somewhere at the end of the line of seats. 

Without looking, Clint hurled the blood-sodden limp ball of fabric in that direction and was rewarded with a wet slap and an agonized yell in Kree. From the sound of the scuffle, at least three of her companions had to hold her back.

The Bartons, grinning, settled back in their seats.

Avengers 2, Kree ... well, frankly about a million but it was a start.

*****

Ronan reappeared when the ship doors reopened, onto a massive docking bay. Blue and light skinned Kree bustled around, then all stopped dead as their lord and leader descended from the open hatch of the ship. The Bartons were prodded and poked into his wake, looking and feeling small and frail amongst the massive aliens. But they kept their heads up and they were both scanning to all sides, noting exits, entrances. Ships, weapons. 

Ronan must have noticed because about half-way through the space he stopped and turned to look at them. "You are incorrigible, like naughty children, you Terrans. Do you think you will be afforded some dramatic escape? You are on my ship, surrounded by my people and the vastness of space. You cannot speak or read my language, you have no weapons and your companions are even now beginning their own lives of servitude. Are you too stupid to be afraid?"

Bobbi shrugged. "I told you before, Accuser, humans don't give up easily. And I don't know you get to throw stones on the fear side. You sent a whole 'nother species to come get us off Earth. Afraid you'd catch your death I guess?" Bobbi'd made Cap teach her his trick of clear projection with no visible effort and her words just about echoed off the roof. The silence in the huge room went from respectful to terrified.

Into that silence, Clint choked out "God, I love you _so fucking much_."

Ronan took a step towards them and neither of them flinched. Against his thigh, Clint felt Bobbi tap out one of the Avengers touch signals.

_**High** _

She would go for his face, Clint for his legs.

They'd die, but they'd die fighting. 

And then Ronan stopped and laughed. He actually had a really nice laugh, big and loud and nearly boisterous. "Naughty children, as I said," he remarked, like a fond uncle, not to them but to his elite. They all joined in, but their laughter had a cruel edge. It escaped no one that shifting and muttering had started in the rank and file Kree within earshot, Bobbi's brazen words passed mouth to mouth through the crowd.

Bobbi looked at Clint and pursed her lips. "We're going to pay for that, you know."

He nodded. "Worth it."

They were both grabbed from behind, big hard hands on neck and arm and pulled off in a different direction. The groups gathered around split to either side like...well, like they were afraid Bobbi was contagious. Once they were out of the docking bay and into what seemed like service corridors they were dragged into some kind of elevator that surged "upwards" at a high rate of speed. When they got out they were faced with a T-junction, leading off in different directions. 

The humans exchanged apprehensive looks as they were frog-marched by their alien captors towards the cross corridor.  
*****

Ronan stood at his observation port, staring into the vastness of space. Once they'd left orbit, he'd ordered the Dark Aster into the empty zone just outside the system, wanting to be somewhere with unobstructed sensor readings in all directions. Ideally, they'd be en route to Hala right now but once he'd advised the Supreme Intelligence about his current mission he'd be ordered point blank not to bring the Terrans back to the home world. The Kree were a genetic mono-culture in 95% of the population; they lived in frank terror of epidemic. Mockingbird had already sent a wave of fear through the leadership of his people with their last encounter. Despite that turning out to be some sort of bluff--or so his medical advisors told him, and even they didn't seen secure in their assessment--he'd have been reluctant to risk bringing her to his home anyway.

She had been demonstrably willing to die to stop him once; he doubted that had changed. 

His entrance summons chimed and he waved assent.

The sliding door to his chambers opened on the sound of a man screaming in rage.

**"--ucking go you pricks. I'm not leaving her like that. I will end you all, I'll hunt you down like vermin. Let me go, now, you pieces of shit!"**

Hawkeye, naked now, was thrown--at another gesture from Ronan--into the middle of the room by two guards who immediately exited. The human male tumbled, surged to his feet and charged the door as it closed. Impressively he almost made it before it snapped shut. He hurled himself at the smooth composite, battering at it with his fists for a much long time than Ronan would have thought, still screaming obscenities in his language, some of which even Ronan's implants couldn't process. By the time he'd calmed himself streaks of blood from the heels of his hands marred the seam of the door. He stood for a few moments, chest heaving, then turned to look at Ronan.

They studied each other, the warlord and the Avenger. The human should have looked like a child to the Kree but there was a sense of power and poise about him, an air of menace that couldn't be dissipated even as he stood, naked and weaponless.

By etiquette, Ronan should have been the first to speak. Instead, Clint stalked forward a few paces and snarled "Take me back to her, you fucker." 

The sheer absurdity of it made Ronan crack a sharp smile. "Do your people have no sense of decorum or rank?" he asked.

"No. Take me back to her." Clint's hands balled into fists and pressed into his thighs, leaving smears of blood on his skin. "I won't ask again."

"Correct," Ronan said with a nod and touched a control on his gauntlet.

Clint cried out once, sharply and fell to the floor, clawing at the back of his neck. Ronan lifted his finger and the human went limp for a moment, then staggered to his feet staring at Ronan in pure hatred. The Kree nodded."Be as polite as you are capable, archer, or...hmmm..." He touched a different control and a virtual screen opened up to one side. It showed the ship's medical bay, where a number of Kree staff swirled around a figure strapped to a table top. A small pale-skinned figure, with long golden hair. "I can control her implant from here, so I'll turn it on and leave it on. It won't effect my doctor's tests, not really."

"You evil worthless fucking--"

Ronan's fingers hovered and Clint's mouth snapped shut. Nodding, the huge Kree walked to his side table and poured himself a glass of fermented jala berry, inhaling the spicy sweet aroma with pleasure. When he turned back, Clint was standing in front of the screen, his hands out and reaching for the image of the woman bound to the table. He was whispering and Ronan could just hear the words.

"Strong, little bird, strong, I know you're scared I know, I'll get back to you, little bird, precious bird..."

"You are absurdly attached to each other," Ronan remarked, studying the man a little closer. Terran and Kree anatomy was close enough--at least in presentation--that he could appreciate the intense dedication exhibited in Clint's impressive musculature, the scars of a warrior who'd known hard service, the composure and ready power in every line of his body. He seemed unashamed of his body, and uncaring of his nakedness. 

The human threw him a side-eyed look. "She's my wife. I love her," he bit out.

"Amongst my people, formal bonding is for power, status, the breeding of pure offspring. Have you bred her?"

"She's not fuc-" Clint gulped, modulating his tone mid sentence. "She's not livestock."

"But no offspring?"

"No. Never wanted'em."

"Hmm," Ronan murmured. "Perhaps I should see to it, with the two of you. You're both impressive, for your weak little species, and the Kree empire can always use more slaves." He studied Clint over the rim of his glass as he drank.

The human flicked a hard look at him, jaw working. "Yeah, okay. Have to keep her alive for at least nine months then, you know."

"Oh, she need not gestate it. A little genetic material from both of you and I could set the breeding pens to popping out human slaves for many years," Ronan said casually, refilling his glass, turning away. He watched the human in the reflection off his window port though, in case he made some suicidal gesture in protest.

Instead he got stillness, silence. Intrigued he turned around again. The human male stood open handed and blank-faced, simply looking at nothing it seemed. The reports they had on the Avengers, from their spies on Terra, indicated this male--Hawkeye--was considered something of a idiot-savant, brilliant with his weapon and low intelligence otherwise. Likely the woman--by all reports a shining intellect--kept him around for the physical pleasures he could provide. Though she did appear as fond of him as he was of her. 

Ah, some people were so attached to their pets. He wondered if her fidelity was of interest to the man, since she would bear him no offspring. 

"I had thought of taking her to my own bed, even at our first encounter. It might be amusing to breed her myself, and see if the hybrid had interesting abilities."

Rage. The man's deep blue eyes--a good Kree blue in fact--snapped alive with white hot rage.

Excellent. An outraged outburst, and he could look forward to seeing the woman writhing in agony because of it. 

The human surprised him. He was getting used to that: being unable to predict how this treacherous, sly, bizarrely brave species was going to respond to normal provocations. 

Clint settled back on his heels, letting the anger drain out of him, and looked Ronan square in the eye, another flicking glance. "Yeah, not interested, man."

"Not interested in what?" Ronan asked.

"Not interested in playing along with this. Not today." He shook his head, rubbing a hand absently through his hair, leave blood streaks in the sandy shock of it. "Normally I do, right? Play along."

"What are you suggesting I'm...playing at?" Ronan asked, genuinely interested.

"Boy I'm just a dumb archer, hyuk, hyuk," the human said in an exaggerated voice, then normally again. "I go with it for tactical reasons, and sometimes just because it's funny when people realize they've been strung along by the uneducated carnie hick." He gestured with one hand at the medical bay. Ronan suddenly realized he'd never stopped watching the feed for more than an instant. "But I'm not in a joking mood and if that means you wanna use whatever these implants are to hurt me, go ahead. Just put me back down there with her. I don't want her to be scared and alone."

"You don't? What would you do for her safety then, human? Since we are not playing along any more?" Ronan said.

"Anything."

"Would you repudiate her? Strip away your marriage vow? Agree to be separated from her forever? I swear, if you divest yourself of her person, I will see her escorted home to Terra" Ronan promised, curious to see how far this would go.

The human tore his eyes away from the image of his female and looked at the Kree for a long time. The expression on his face was complex, layered: hope, anger, fear, despair and...gathering slowly under it all...contempt. That last grew stronger and stronger until it filled the man's face. 

Somewhere deep in Ronan's heart, shame blossomed.

"Ah, come on already. Yeah, of course I'd do all that if I thought you were telling the truth but you're not and I won't. You just want to record me sayin' something nasty so you can play it for her and hurt her. 'Cept it wouldn't cause she's not dumb and she wouldn't believe it. You're not going to out think me here, Kree and that means you're not going to out think her pretty much ever. Quit poking at me. What did you want to know anyway? That I love her? I do. But you figured that out down on the planet. Same as you figured out Steve was willing to sacrifice himself to be able to protect her and everyone was willing to be your prisoner to stay together."

Ronan opened hjs mouth--

And the human just talked over him. "Yeah, and don't give me the bullshit speech about 'emotions make you weak'. Heard it 'bout a million times. It's stupid; it's what angry little kids think. Me lovin' her is the strongest thing about my life. The team loving each other makes us keep fighting no matter what. How many times you looked at the people around you and thought they'd strip your carcass the first chance they got?"

Ronan's hand shot out and wrapped around the man's neck, hauling him off his feet, choking him. "Are your emotions strong enough to stop me from breaking your impudent neck?"

" _Kill....me...and she'll...kill you...nothin'...stop her_ ," Hawkeye gasped.

Ronan wanted to laugh in his purpling face, display his contempt at the idea that a bound naked woman would pose a threat to him...and he remembered her in that great public square on Terra, where she had carried her own death in the marrow of her bones to thwart him. One woman alone, bereft of her boon companions...and she had ended his invasion before it could begin. (1)

He flung Hawkeye away from him and called out to his guards. 

"Take him back to his woman so they can complete the testing on them both. When it's done, we can begin."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Mockingbird faced off with Ronan in Invasion, Part 17 of the Mockingverse on this site


	4. Tony and Rocket, Sitting in a Tree...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Guardians rescue Tony Stark, who figures out they're hiding something. But since they're also his only hope of rescuing the Avengers...

Tony Stark held it together as his team mates were sold off, one by one.

 _Somehow_ , he held it together as Steve was auctioned off first, in a lengthy process that left the weird centipede things seeming VERY pleased at end. Apparently knocking that alien out with a thrown neck cuff was considered badass because there was practically a fight over the big blond. Who hadn't spoken or moved since the Bartons had been carted away by Ronan's crew. No one, not even Barnes, could break through to him--he looked almost catatonic, his face dead and still. He went to a tall, greenish...thing....with extra arms and several hulking armored guards who wore what looked like collars. The whole crew screamed "slave gladiators" in the universal language of violence. When they dragged Steve off the podium he went docily, head down and silent. The rest of the team exchanged frankly terrified expressions as he disappeared into the crowd.

Barnes went kicking and snarling, to the group who "lost" the auction on Steve -- and they looked to be in the same business. They had to stun him unconscious with weird glowing batons before they could get him away. 

And still Tony held it together. 

Natasha went next, to some human looking guy (except for having neon orange eyes) who was surrounded by scantily clad females. She went calmly but the look she threw at Sam and Tony was agonized. 

Tony grabbed the fraying edges of his brain and _held it together_.

Then Sam was sold off, to a bored looking cat-man who attached him to the end of a line of fit-looking male slaves and pulled them all away.

And Tony couldn't hold it together anymore.

In the middle of his own auction, which seemed kind of anemic compared to the others, Tony Stark had a full blown, knock down, drag out panic attack. 

He started to gasp, feeling like the collar was choking him, then hyperventilated as he doubled over as far as the chain would let him. Despite being freezing in his bathing suit he felt sweat stinging his eyes, running in rivulets down his spine. The auction seemed to stall but he was barely aware of his surroundings. The pain in his chest, the dizziness, the sudden grip of nausea increased his sensations of detachment. This wasn't happening. It wasn't real. He wasn't alone on an alien world with no suit being sold off like day-old bread. Maybe the last years of his life were all fake, the dying gasp of his brain as he perished in space--because he didn't make it back through the portal over New York--or in the snow in Tennessee after the California house blew up.

He'd never really been an Avenger. He'd never really fallen in love. He'd never really been able to make up, just a little, for all the pain and suffering he and his family had caused. Captain America had never called him 'friend'. He'd never been a hero.

He'd always known that though, that he was no hero. 

His fingers and toes were starting to go numb--it was the snow, obviously, he was dying in the snow--when suddenly he was pushed and shoved off stage, something changed hands over his head and then a figure in a rust red trench coat was pulling him by the upper arm into an alley. 

"Nice work man, thank you," said the figure through a mask with red glowing eyes, his voice sounding metallic and--Midwestern?. 'Totally tanked that auction with your little show. You're as smart as they say you are." He let go of Tony's arm as he spoke and the billionaire's knees went out from under him. 

"CAN'T...BREATHE," Tony managed from the ground.

"Oh," he heard from far away. "Damn you weren't faking. (pause) Hey, Drax can you swing by here? I can't carry this guy."

*****

Tony had accepted that he was clearly experiencing hallucinations before brain death when the huge muscular shirtless green guy dumped him on the floor of the space ship. He had calmed down just enough that he could see properly so when he looked up into the large dark soulful eyes of _the walking tree_ he just nodded. The creature nodded back and intoned "I Am Groot" in a deep, friendly rumble. 

"Yeah," he said. "This seems about right for my brain. Nice to meet you, Treebeard."

"Man, this waste-case is supposed to be some sort of genius-guy?' brayed a voice from his right. Tony looked over and noted that blood-loss or whatever had made him hallucinate a talking raccoon on its hind legs with a wrench and a jumpsuit. 

"Hey Rocky, where's Bullwinkle?" he asked causally, which made mask-guy burst out laughing behind him.

"I'm Rocket, stupid, not Rocky," snapped the creature who then turned to an open panel and started adjusting something inside, tools appearing and disappearing in quick flashes. Tony leaned in, looking closer. His thoughts started to clear, soothed by the presence of technology he could recognize.

"Is that a quantum coupler?" he said, pointing.

The...okay, it was a raccoon, he accepted that, and it seemed to be named Rocket so...Rocket the Raccoon tilted its head at him and nodded. "Yeah, man, yeah. You know what that is?"

"I built one for my elementary school science fair," Tony said. 

Rocket squinted its--his--eyes and got a thoughtful expression. 

"It's a miracle," drawled a woman's voice from one side. "You got Rocket to shut up."

"Eh, bite me greenie,' snarled the raccoon, who dove back into the paneling.

Tony looked up and up, across an expanse of black material and green flesh into the eyes of woman. Her gaze was hard, sardonic, reminding Tony of a cross between Natasha...well, himself really. Suddenly he was on his feet, his near-nakedness forgotten, the rheostat on his charm cranked up to maximum. The only thing that centered Tony Stark's brain more than technology was a hot woman. 

"I'm Tony Stark, miracles are my business. Though not even I could create something as perfect as yourself, even with divine intervention." He smiled, smooth and slick. 

"This man seems as dedicated to meaningless fornication as yourself, Quill," said the big green guy--Drax, the masked man had called him.

"With equal success," snorted the woman. She looked over Tony's shoulder. "What happened to the rest of them?"

"Sold," said the masked man. Tony turned to look at him as he touched something on the side of his mask, which shimmered and folded out of existence. It revealed a very human face with a red-blond scruff, square jawed and cheerful. He shook his head, then continued. "Ronan got Hawkeye and Mockingbird, Captain America went to the Sideshow, some dark-haired guy got clipped up by Tamok's goons, Falcon went to Des'kaff royalty I didn't recognize and Black Widow's en route to the Sphere. Bester was bidding on Stark here but after he had his melt down I got him for a song." 

"You probably paid too much," the woman said with a sneer.

"Hang on," Tony said. "A song? You got me on the cheap?"

The man Drax had called Quill nodded as he took off his jacket and tossed it over a chair. "It was quite a show. You looked like a broken android, all shaking and frothing."

"Oooh, did you record it?" said Rocket eagerly. "Did it look funny? I bet it was funny."

"It was," agreed Quill.

Tony glared at him. "Yeah, I bet," he growled, then balled a hand into a fist. "But seriously, I went cheap? That's just...wrong. I'm worth way more than Barnes at least!"

"Barnes? Was that the dark haired guy? Sgt Barnes from the comics? I thought he was dead!" Quill said in a voice of suppressed excitement.

"It didn't take," muttered Tony. "Hold on, who are all of you anyway? And how do you know who we are?"

"We're the Guardians of the Galaxy," Quill announced proudly, all but puffing his chest. "I'm called Star-Lord, you met Drax, that's Rocket you were talking too, Groot's the tree and the lady is Gamora, the deadliest woman in the galaxy."

Tony barked a laugh. "Tony Stark. I came here with a couple of women who'd dispute that title." He stopped and winced. "One of whom might be getting tortured to death as we speak."

Gamora shook her head. "Ronan will take his time with her. She humiliated him in front of the known worlds. He wants to parade her before them in turn, a broken doll, obedient to his will."

Tony stared at her. "In front of the what? How does anyone not on Earth know about that?"

Quill bustled over to him, taking his shoulder in a firm grip. "Buddy, let's get you some clothes, my stuff should fit you and then we can talk more, okay?" It was a transparent tactic to get him off topic but since he was shivering in his swimsuit Tony went with it. He filed the info away though.

*****

Tony managed a hot shower in what was clearly not water but got him clean anyway, then changed into the worn but fresh clothes Quill left for him, something like jeans and a tshirt. When he stuck his head out of the cabin door, the... _the tree, seriously what was his life now?_ was waiting for him placidly, smiling. "I am Groot," it advised, pointing a branch down the corridor. 

Tony nodded. "Groot it is. I'm Tony."

"I am Groot."

"This is a very stimulating conversation," Tony said amicably.

"I am Groot," the tree returned.

They approached the hatch leading to the common area of the ship and it slid open, to what was clearly an abruptly silenced argument. Tony pretended not to notice but something was clearly up in general on this ship. He smiled and waved. "Hey, sorry about the freak out earlier. I get panic attacks when I'm kidnapped by aliens and auctioned off in space."

Gamora snorted, her arms crossed. "Technically you're the alien here, Terran."

"Maybe," he smiled at her. "But I'm still Tony Stark and that's what really matters."

She blinked at him, eyes narrowing. Tony just kept smiling, his expression bland and cheerful. They locked eyes for an uncomfortable length of time before Tony deliberately, casually broke the contact to look around the room. "So, obviously you know who I am--well, who Iron Man is. You knew who we were, the Avengers. I gotta ask, did you buy me to own me or save me?"

The big green and red skinned man barked a laugh. "I like you, Terran. You speak bluntly"

Quill shrugged. "Save you, man. Now we gotta figure out how to save the rest of them."

"I am Groot."

"Groot's right," snapped the raccoon. "They'll be scattered in every direction in like a cycle or so. I say we need to pick one and leave the rest to their own devices."

"I am Groot."

Rocket's muzzle scrunched up. "Well of course you want to rescue them all, you're a stupid tree."

Tony opened a hand to the raccoon. "If I had to pick one, it'd be Steve--Captain America--cause he's the star spangled man with the plan, or so the song goes. I mean, when he's not having a damn breakdown like he did...but we don't have to pick one, if you let me at that panel you were working on earlier."

Rocket glared. "You don't get to touch my tech, you'll mess it all up, you Terrans are like babies with this stuff."

"Look, trash panda, I'm Tony God Damn Stark. Gimme five minutes, I can build a better version of you out of spare parts," Tony snapped.

"Oh yeah!" the raccoon snarled, leaping agily on the table to go eye to eye with Tony. "Then how do you fix--" and he spouted off a string of technical terms that left the rest of the Guardians visibly confused.

"Ha!" Tony snapped and spouted a similar string of words back at him, leaving him non-plussed for a heartbeat before he rallied and snarled another string of words that might as well have been the speech of the angels to everyone else in the room.

Tony volleyed with a contemptuous tone then posed his own question that actually got Rocket thinking for a second before he answered. They went back and forth a few more times, their challenges increasingly convoluted before Gamora suddenly slammed her sword onto the table. 

"While the two of you are...comparing technical manhoods...the Avengers are getting further away from us," she hissed.

Rocket tossed his head in contempt but suddenly soared off the table to land next to the panel he'd been working on earlier, his nimble fingers undoing bolts and clasps in a few heartbeats. "Go for it, humie. You break anything I'll claw your junk off."

Tony practically teleported across the room, snapping requests for tools to Rocket. They dropped their heads into the guts of the ship, the suave billionaire and the talking raccoon. After an astonishingly short period of time, where in Rocket's whole demeanor changed from bristling contempt to half-way friendly, Tony looked back at the rest of them. "One of you got a clean knife? Sharper the better."

Drax proffered one of his, over his wrist. "With this blade I have slain many hundreds of enemies. I keep it honed to the razor's edge and clean enough to plunge into the heart of a god."

Tony stared at him. "You have got to be a hoot at parties."

"I am not a hoot. I am Drax."

"Right." Tony took the knife and cut his own throat. 

Quill yelled and started forwarded. Even Gamora jerked towards the human.

"Chill, guys." Stark said, pulling the blade away from his skin. He'd only made a superficial cut high under his chin, extending to just below his ear, bleeding a little. He wiped the blade on the tail of his t shirt and handed it back to Drax, then pried at the cut with his fingers. He extracted a thin flat sheet of plastic with embedded circuits, maybe the length of a finger joint. "This is one of our comm chips, works by bone induction on the audio and grabs electrical impulses from my nervous system to recharge itself. Mine's a little bigger and more complex cause it works as an interface to/stable cache for Jarvis too. And since Mock got pulled into another universe a few years ago I've been working on a way to use the stable quantum tunneling thing the Asgardians have going on for instantaneous communication across space. Not perfect yet but..."

As he spoke he was tapping and hooking and fiddling with the chip and some data cords Rocket fed him, then slotted it into a gap in the power system of the panel. Rocket actually grinned at him, looking at a reading, then gave him the thumbs up. 

Tony stood up and gestured at main com screen. "Light it up, little fuzz-guy." 

A star map appeared on the screen, with six flashing lights dotted across it, two stationary at the far edge of the system, four of the others moving slowly away on different lines.

"But one thing it knows how to do it find my tech. No matter how far away it is. Those are the stealthed comm chips all the others have. So, Guardians of the Galaxy, wanna help me rescue the Avengers?"

While his new friends started arguing about plans and timing and where to go first, Tony didn't feel he really needed to tell them what _else_ his little slice of Jarvis was doing with their main frame. 

Secrets cut both ways.


	5. Obstacle Course

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ronan sets a test for Hawkingbird. It perhaps does not go as he intended.

Bobbi had been in a fetal position since the guards had dumped them both in the dark, cramped cell somewhere near the medical bay. Clint had tried to comfort her but she shoved him away, violently, and went back to trembling in a ball.

As much as it hurt him—and it hurt a lot—Clint knew why she was doing it. The ordeal in the medical bay on the Kree ship had pretty much been one of her worst nightmares made manifest: stripped and bound by physically powerful enemies who had an agenda she didn’t understand, couldn’t be fought or reasoned with and were busy poking and prodding her in intimate, humiliating ways. While she’d been with Clint she’d held it together but when the guards dragged him away the awfulness of the situation came crashing down. She’d screamed and cried and trembled and generally carried on so much they’d sedated her.

And of course being drugged against her will was another trigger, another layer of near-madness dumped onto her psyche. She was a wreck, even now what felt like hours later. 

Problem was, Clint was nearly in as bad a state. He needed her to be strong—which wasn’t going to happen. Not this time, not like every other damn time he’d needed her to support him, to hold him together. Today he had to suck it up, put on his big girl panties and be the one who did what had to be done. 

What had to be done right now is rest. He was physically and mentally exhausted, scared out of his mind. He could practically taste the despair lapping at the back of his throat, bitter and sour. 

“Little bird,” he whispered. “I’m going to lie down and put my hand on your hip, okay?”

She whimpered. He chose to take that as consent, just this once.

But when he touched her this time she held still, not slapping him off or bursting into tears. He settled in on the hard floor, curling himself around the space behind her, spooning at a distance. Slowly, like a frightened forest creature, she inched closer to him. 

When he could bury his face in her hair and breath her in, drowning out the metal and chemical scents, the very air itself alien to him, Clint managed to fall asleep.

*****

Bobbi was shaky, sick, weak and terrified when the door to their cell opened up and the Kree hauled the Bartons out into the common area of little prison complex. But she was awake, she stood up straight when they released her and she’d stopped crying. Having Clint at her side, solid and powerful and alive, made all the difference. She could face the horrors of every version of hell ever imagined if Clint was with her.

Phyla-Vel was there, eying them with distaste.

“Put these on,” she snapped, tossing each of them a bundle of fabric. “It’ll make clean-up easier when you soil yourselves.”

Bobbi rolled her eyes at the Kree woman, who looked basically human. “Great sell, sport. Heck knows we both want _your_ life to be easier.”

Clint snorted, unfurling his bundle. It was a singlet made of some smooth material, sleeveless but with leg coverings to the ankles. So was Bobbi’s, both a dull grey with no markings. Since even that inadequate layer was better than prancing around naked, they skinned into them. 

The guards fell in behind them and they were escorted down many corridors, then unceremoniously shoved through a door way that was shut behind them. 

They were in a very large room, several hundred meters across, extending down about a floor below them and up the same distance. The floor, walls and ceiling were covered in handholds, railings, boxes and platforms. It looked for all the world like a level in a video game. 

On the other side of the space was another platform. 

Out of nowhere, Ronan’s voice boomed out and they both flinched. 

“Your species has an idiosyncratic reaction to pain, I’ve found. It seems to…motivate you. I feel the need to test that theory. During your examinations my medical staff placed a small module at the base of each of your skulls, tied directly into your spinal column. Now, I’ve already shown you the most basic of its functions…Hawkeye…but it has other levels, settings, uses. The one we will be using today is fairly simple. It will convert all voluntary muscular impulses into pure pain — and then transmit that pain to the other partner’s implant.” His deep warm voice practically dripped evil satisfaction. “Your task is simple. Make it to the other side of the room and back before the timer counts down. You must both be where you are now or when it reaches zero…well, one of your implants will explode. I’m not even sure which one.”

“He’s lying,” Bobbi hissed. “He’s not going to kill us that fast.”

“Wanna risk it?” Clint countered. 

Bobbi winced. Studying the bizarre obstacle course closely, she noted that all was clearly not what it seemed. 

She looked over at Clint who was doing the same. They both nodded. 

“Booby traps,” she said gravely. 

“Bobbi traps,” Clint responded with a little grin and she laughed. In the middle of this horror, she laughed at his words, at his bravery and beauty. 

Clint grabbed her hand and whispered in her ear. “He said we both have to be back here, not that we both have to cross the room.”

She pulled back, biting her lip, her eyes wild. “No.” She whispered back. “I can’t do that to you.”

“You gotta, little bird. Tactics—this is your kinda game. I’m slower, heavier. But you? You can fly.”

Bobbi clenched her teeth but he was right damn him.

Suddenly a timer appeared in the air above them, slowly counting down from five. They both lined up a first move, Bobbi picking a suspended railing floating from nothing a meter or so jump away from the platform.

As the timer hit zero she pushed off, leaping into thin air.

And Clint dropped straight down onto the floor, onto his back, eyes closed, arm flopped out, head lolling. 

He was going to take the pain without resisting, just so she could have a clear run.

Mockingbird's bare feet hit the narrow surface of the suspended railing, finding her balance point easily. It was several centimeters wider than the widest rope she'd ever walked--it might as well have been a tarmac. It was so trivial a challenge that she could spare the time to listen to the other "hers" as they argued in the back of her head.

_You're hurting him! wailed Bobbi._

_Dr Morse sniffed: They can't really 'boost the gain' on the human nervous system that much. He's suffered worse. He'll live._

_Sure. It's still all our fault returned Barbara in her uncouth snarl._

_Is what's happening to him going to interfere in our motions? Agent 19 requested her intell dispassionately_

_No, Mockingbird answered herself. Pain causes involuntary motions; theoretically we won't feel it. Now all of you, concentrate. We need bio-HUD._

Mockingbird's goggles had the third most sophisticated HUD on the Avengers team. But Steve, bless his heart, insisted she train herself to duplicate as much of the info gathering as she could with just her bare eyes. They'd been working on it for years, with Falcon: memetic devices, passive pattern recognition, pushing adrenaline from red line to black and then doing puzzles while hopped and jittery and nearly non-functional. it had yielded interesting results.

Like now, when she could see -- at full sprint on a suspended rail only a few meters long--that the end third of the railing was rigged to break off when she stepped on it, tumbling her down into the open air below. She stuttered her step, shortened her stride for a heart beat and launched herself from the last firm foothold. Accidently-on-purpose her toes clipped the break away section and her leap was an extended layout looking down. She wanted to see what they'd intended to happen to her. The section of the railing fell maybe thirty feet, then bounced onto platform concealed by the shadows above. Broken bones, then. 

She touched down on another platform, then had three choices: a wide flat cube in front of her, a series of staggered discs to the left and to the right a wall of bars and hand holds, like a sociopaths climbing gym.

She picked the wall. She was good with things that looked and felt like her batons. 

For a few hand holds, it was easy. She brachiated from one to the next, climbing the wall like a tree when one of the poles she was using for a foothold suddenly contracted into the wall. Her hands slipped and she was falling. She kicked off from the wall, just the side of her foot, but it was enough to get her, at the far reach of her left arm, to a spar below her on the very bottom row. Her fingers, slick with sweat, slipped caught slipped then held. The price she paid was her shoulder wrenching with a sickening pain. Her already precarious grip wavered as her hand went numb but she got her other hand up, chinned herself one armed ( _thank you for the high tech weight room Tony_ ) and got her chest onto the bar. She realized she was almost jumping distance to the next platform. The timer flashed in her peripheral vision but she refused to look at it. Things couldn't get MORE urgent.

Bobbi hopped sideways to a suspended disk then onto her target, crossing the space in a single darting motion to slap her hand on the wall. The timer in the air turned a different color and....sped up. She could see the number changing faster. 

_Fuckers_

Without bothering to plan much she just charged back across the space, making sure that no matter where she went she had at least two paths. Half way across there was a crackling noise and a beam of energy slashed down from the ceiling--missing her by a good meter. Her lip curled in contempt.

And the platform under her bare feet flashed white hot between one step and the next. 

Her feet came down two more times and she could feel her flesh searing and she hurled herself into the air, the pain starting, the smell of burnt meat sick in the back of her throat. She spun and tumbled and by some miracle had enough forward momentum to reach one of the last stretches of railing and then the sole of her foot touched it and the pain was so intense she fell sideways, into thin air...

...but her free leg hooked over the rail, swinging from her knee like a kid on a jungle gym and she hauled herself up again, the pain in her shoulder a distance scream and crawled, knees and one hand because her arm wouldn't obey her any more and all but fell off the end of the railing next to the limp form of her husband.

The timer stopped at seven.

Clint was unconscious, his face covered in blood from where he'd bitten through his own lip. His hands were clenched so hard he'd incised deep cuts into his palms with his short blunt fingernails.

Bobbi dragged herself over to him, took his head into her lap and sat with her legs stretched out, tears of pain pattering into his hair. 

It still took four guards to get her to let him go.

*****

In the observation room of the Dark Aster, Ronan stared at the replay of the Terran's run, studying her every motion. After half a dozen times he sighed and pressed a palm to his forehead. 

"Has anyone ever done that before?" he asked aloud.

Behind him he could feel the weight of his entire entourage not wanting to answer him. So he turned and fixed the first person his eye landed on with a glare. It was Galen-Kor who looked panicked. 

"Lord I don't--" he stammered and then just stared dumbly, which was what he usually did. 

"No," that came from Phylla-Vell, small and soft. She was actually one of the most powerful members of his staff, because of her special abilities but the deep-seated racism of the Kree nation meant she caught nasty and unpleasant assignments more than the others. Now she was looking at a readout of her own, her forehead crinkled with concern. "The only times anyone has completed the run in the past was because one of the parties fell to their deaths in the first moments. My lord."

"Korath, make sure they are both healed and fed, and upgrade their cell to something more comfortable. As a reward for completing the course." Ronan touched the control again, starting the recording from the beginning again. "Everyone get out."

Alone, Ronan again watched the two Avengers defeat the challenge he'd expected to be the first step to breaking their spirits.


	6. Pirates and Falcons and Super Soldiers, oh my

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Guardians start gathering in the scattered Avengers, with varying degrees of difficulty.

“You want to explain to me what we’re waiting for?” Tony asked Quill, trying to sound calm and reasonable about the fact that he’d handed the group the locations of all the scattered Avengers and yet…they were still on the planet. It had been hours.

Well. Okay, maybe _an hour_ but it felt like an eternity. 

“Gotta grab Mantis, our empath. She can’t handle big crowds right now—she’s a little fragile because of recent events that did not involve my father in any way. Anyway, she went off to a monastery while we were in the city but she’s headed back,” Quill said, checking over his weapons store. Tony had already spotted at least three weapons he knew he could use in a pinch so he was feeling a bit better. 

Quill looked over at a panel and pointed at a read out. “In fact there she is.”

He heard the big bay door of the Milano open and a high pitched female voice chattered suddenly through the air. “Are you feeling more calmness new friend?” 

_AND SAM WILSON ANSWERED HER_

Tony literally bounced off a wall getting out of the main cockpit and down into the loading bay.

Standing there next to a slim…figure with mobile forehead antenna and the hugest dark eyes he’d seen outside of anime was Falcon, dressed in a smart suit of dark cloth and carrying a satchel over his shoulder. He looked…fine.

Tony was hugging him the next second, the jittery almost-panic that still gripped him receding just a little more. “What! The! Hell!” He yelled into Sam’s face, still gripping his shoulders at arms length.

Sam’s grin burst out like a rising sun. “Oh, man, I wasn’t sure it was true! You’re here!”

“Hey, man,” said Quill from the doorway, slouching over to the group, trailed by Gamora and Groot. “How’d you get away?”

“I didn’t,” Sam said with a head shake. “T’Vovnik let me go. Said she’d bought me to protect me and something like ‘Descoffin? Owes the Avengers a great debt and they’d shelter us all if they could’?”

“Des’kaff,” corrected Gamora. “They were a Kree satrapy until Ronan failed in his attempt to take Terra. When they saw the broadcast it apparently motivated them to rise up against the occupying force and throw them off the planet.”

Tony saw Sam open his mouth to ask about the ‘broadcast’ bit and shook his head quickly. _Let it go_ Sam subsided, eying Tony but still smiling and happy. 

“I found him!” Chirped the alien standing next to Falcon, who had to be the missing Mantis. “I felt his confusion and his Terran-ness and he felt so much like you, Peter I thought you were lost in the Great Market again!”

“Hahahh, I’ve never been lost in the Market,” Quill supplied quickly. Gamora rolled her eyes so perfectly it took Tony’s breath away. Groot smiled amicably.

“Anyway, Mantis here told me that this group had bought you and well, I didn’t have much else to go on so I figured I would check it out,” Sam rolled his shoulders, looking incredibly relieved. “Got a plan to rescue the others yet?”

*****

In the main room of the Milano, Tony sat down at what had become his station. “So, okay, you’re not going to like this—”

“Yeah, we all know about the trackers, Tony,” Sam said in a mild tone. “Boot’em up.”

Tony swivelled his head and stared. “You know?”

“Yeah, Nat told us all about them when you installed them. Steve said to let you think we didn’t know; said it would make you feel superior and keep you happy.” 

“It’s as if someone combined you and Rocket,” Gamora remarked to Quill in an amused voice. “Arrogance and computers all in one body.”

Tony opened his mouth and then shut it again, spinning around abruptly and pulling up the display. He’d added little icons above each spot: Steve’s shield, a black spider, an arrow, a combat baton, a red star.

The arrow and baton were still stationary on the edge of deep space. The black spider was also stationary, on the other side of the map, in another star system. The red star and shield were closer to the spider. Bucky was still in the system, but moving away; Steve was in interstellar space and appeared to be flying in a long lazy oval between several systems.

“We were arguing about who to get first, you or Natasha, but I guess that’s solved one argument. I actually think…maybe we should go for the muscle? Steve or Buck?”

“We will need much power to attack the Sideshow. They are well organized and defended and they will not hesitate to throw their slave fighters before us as fodder,” rumbled Drax as he stalked into the room. He greeted Mantis with a slight smile before settling down at the table and pulling out a knife to sharpen. 

Tony looked over at Quill. “Are the guys who have Barnes like that too?”

Quill opened his palm to Gamora, who pulled a ration bar out of a container and began gnawing at it, leaning against the wall. “Tamok is a pretender to the Sideshow’s throne, attempting to take some of their audience with even wilder and more vicious combat than the Show provides. They are not wise enough to see that it robs them of talent they could nurture into better fighters. Still, there are some who will pay well to see pain and death.”

“Where’d Nat go to? I mean, I gotta admit that looked like…it looked like a soft core porn website line up,” Sam said in a worried voice.

“Oh, yeah, it’s a whoreship,” supplied Rocket, scampering past Quill and Gamora to run up Mantis’ torso, then leap from her shoulder to Groot’s arm, making the big-eyed alien giggle delightedly. “I mean, not my type but the redhead’s pretty tasty to you big apes.”

Sam looked like he wasn’t sure if he should be angry or recoiling in fear. 

“Sam Wilson, meet Rocket. Rocket, try to be a little more sensitive, okay?” Quill said.

“Oh, yeah, right…Ergh, don’t worry they won’t farm her out to customers until she’s trained?” Rocket managed, looking around for approval. Drax gave him a big thumbs up.

Quill winced. “I’m sorry about them. So, you think Barnes then Black Widow? They are on the way to each other.”

Sam and Tony exchanged a look, then both nodded. 

“Any chance one of you can find me a gun?” Sam asked.

*****

When they arrived at the hulking ship that was Tamok’s Death Pit’s mobile home they didn’t even really have much trouble gaining access. There were docking bays and guest accommodation available for those who liked to see sentient creatures fighting to the death in person. The fights were also broadcast live throughout the system and on an interstellar band.

The Milano docked and Sam, Tony and Quill joined the crowd on the main midway, outside the large arena deck. The rest of the Guardians were too easily recognized; the three Terrans could conceal their faces and blend in. Tony was unarmed—they were expecting this to be a simple reconnoiter.

Apparently there was a big fight planned that day, one of the champions vs three new comers and they needed to be sure Barnes wasn’t one of them. If he was, they would have to move fast to pull him out. 

They found an unguarded computer terminal eventually, at the far dark end of the space near an access tunnel and Tony swiftly forced the system to give up it’s secrets.

“Good news, Barnes isn’t on the playbill for today. Bad news, it’s because — and I quote the excellent translation program you guys have—he’s scheduled for ‘brain go away’ in the medical area.”

Sam swore. “Shit, that sounds like they’re going to try to lobotomize him or something, why?”

“Cause he killed three guards when he woke up, naked and bare-handed,” Tony supplied.

“What’s going to happen to him?” Sam snapped at Quill. 

“It’s not surgery or anything, they just use cognitive reprogramming—”

Tony switched his hand-scanner into tracking mode. “I’ve got his location, let’s go.” He said briskly to Sam, cutting Quill off. The two Avengers set off down the nearby access tunnel, Tony holding up his scanner and waving it back and forth to get a stronger signal.

“Wait, wait,” Quill panted, catching up to them. “We can’t go chargin’—I mean it’s not fun but it won’t even hurt him much and the place will be crawling with guards.”

“We have to get him now,” Sam said, checking the unfamiliar weapon at this hip.

“Why?” Snarled Quill in frustration.

Tony stopped and looked at him. “Because Barnes spent twenty years being tortured and brain washed by Hydra and fifty years killing for them and between missions they’d wipe his memories and personality. Other than maybe what they did and what these guys are going to try permanently damaging his not-healed brain this kind of thing is basically his living hell and Avengers don’t let that happen to other Avengers.”

“He’ll fight them so hard they may just kill him too,” supplied Sam. And they started off again, moving almost at a trot. 

Quill paused walking long enough to call back to the Milano and explain what was happening. “Keep the engine warm, Rocket and those swords out, Drax, Gamora. I have a feeling we may be coming back in an almighty hurry.”

*****

They found the medical floor easily enough and made their way towards where the scanner said Barnes was being taken with a combination of deceit and punching people. Sam was his usual calm, professional self when it came to fisticuffs. Tony and Quill traded off on the lying to, charming and distracting people parts.

A few corridors away they heard a sudden huge racket from up ahead, like a door had opened on a sound effects room in full swing simulating all the war movies ever made. Shouting, gunfire, metal on metal screeching, screams of pain.

Without a word Sam dropped into a full sprint, Tony a few steps behind him and Quill pulling up the rear. He was so far behind he missed them at two corners and wound up sliding to a stop in front of the medical bay with his element gun only half charged and comprehensively out of breath.

The room was quiet again; it had gone quiet a left turn ago, nothing but the sound of fritzing equipment, dripping liquid and panting breath.

The breath was coming from the mostly naked human male plastered up against the far wall, a scalpel like object in his hand. His flesh hand, he had a metal arm that hung useless at his side; he was in a pair of form fitting shorts and nothing else. His long dark hair half covered his face, sticking to the sheen of sweat on his skin. The one eye Quill could see was wild, insane. 

Around the room humped the still bodies of…Quill counted five really really big dudes of at least three races and three of what looked like medical staff, all Arcturans. 

The Arcturans were alive, cowering in the corner of the room, staring at the metal-armed man in sheer terror. The guards were all dead…well, Quill kinda hoped they were dead. Those were not fun injuries to have to live with. 

Sam and Tony where standing several feet away from the other human, both with their hands up.

“Bucky, dude, come on. Put down the knife Buck. This is a rescue. Come on, man,” Sam was repeating in a low, soft voice, soothing and consolatory. 

With a shock Quill realized the man wasn’t threatening them with the blade. He was holding it to his own throat.

Barnes opened his mouth and spat out a sentence in a liquid, voluble language that Quill didn’t understand. He discretely activated one of his ear pods.

“Hey, what’s he saying?” He whispered into the com link back to the Milano. 

Barnes spoke again, a longer speech edged with frustration and fear.

“It’s a Terran language,” Gamora offered into Quill’s ear. “Russian? Is that how you say it?”

“Guys,” Quill called. “He’s speaking Russian does that make sense?”

“Yeah,” Tony answered. “When’s he’s stressed out he goes all Manchurian Candidate like that. Problem is neither of us speak Russian so…I’m not sure what to do. Maybe we shoulda gone for Nat first.”

Barnes’ gaze snapped to Tony. “Nat? Ty yeye znayesh? Milli Moy?”

“Da! Da!” Tony responded. “We totally znayesh her, Natasha Romanoff. She’s a pal!”

“We can take you too her, Barnes. Just put down the knife and we’ll take you too her. To Milli Moy,” Sam added, soft and gentle. 

Barnes’ eyes skipped from Sam to Tony and then back again. His hand wavered and suddenly the blade was clanging to the ground and he was staggering forward. Quill caught a glimpse of his face and saw he was crying, like a frightened child. 

Profoundly embarrassed he spun around and confronted the Arcturans. “Find me something for him to wear,” he snapped. “Then get the fark out of here.”

On the way back to the Milano, Barnes started to come out of the fugue state he was in. Well, he began speaking English anyway. Draped in a medical robe too small for him he quizzed Tony and Sam in a vague, confused way about what had happened. They answered as best they could, taking turns supporting him. Halfway there, the shit hit the external venting exhaust. Then it turned into a running battle with Quill and Sam shooting at the guys behind them, Tony navigating while nudging Barnes in the right direction. Once—when a squad of guards appeared in front of them—Barnes singlehandedly killed all four of them before the rest of the group registered they were there.

As they made it to the concourse, Drax, Groot and Gamora met up with them and then it was just a stroll back to the ship. A stroll involving Drax throwing someone through a bulkhead, Gamora lopping off at least three limbs and Groot cheerfully slinging the still stumbling Barnes over one shoulder towards the end.

As Rocket jumped them out of the area and closer to where Black Widow was being held, Sam and Tony sat down with Barnes in the corner of the main room, talking to him in low, intense voices. He was nodding and gesturing a little when he answered them now, more animated and slightly less scary. Tony was working on his bionic arm and it was slowly regaining function as he brought its systems on line. 

Mantis and Gamora joined Quill where he was standing on the far side of the room. They were both eying Barnes’ bare chest. 

“Many Terran males looking as such, friend Peter?” Mantis asked, her antenna indicating interest. “Not small and weedy like you and other two?”

“I’m not—” Quill clamped his mouth shut, breathing out through his nose there was no point in getting into it no point at all, no point. “He’s special I think. Like Captain America, from what they said.”

“Ah, pretty golden man from your books of comics yes!” Mantis burbled. 

“He has a warrior’s carriage, indeed,” Gamora said, her voice low and silky. “He holds himself with honor. Does he fight well?”

“He killed about ten guys with his bare hands. Hand. Metal arm wasn’t working.” Qull gulped a little. “He broke a gegku’s neck. I didn’t know they HAD necks.”

The Milano sighed gently and dropped into normal space. Quill smiled to himself, comforted by the familiar sounds and rhythms of his ship. 

Then he shrieked as every proximity alarm they had went off at once.

Everyone in the room practically levitated in terror as Rocket’s voice blared through the ship. _”We got company, folks!”_

Quill was up, out the door and in the cockpit before anyone else even started moving. 

He found himself staring at a huge gaudily panted ship that had apparently been waiting for them, from the read outs. He studied them again, then thumped back into his chair, staring out of the window in confusion. Rocket was scanning over the same reports and muttering to himself.

The other ship just hung there, silent, waiting. It was big, many times larger than the Milano and it was heavily armed.

Behind him Gamora took her seat, started to check the weapons systems, then stopped. “Quill, that ship is from the Sphere.”

“Yup.”

“In fact, it’s the ship the buyer at the auction was using, isn’t it.”

“From the transponder read out, yeah.”

“Why is it here, waiting for us?”

“I’m really not sure but I doubt it can be good.”

The Sphere had a reputation for high quality merchandise and more than one pirate group had tried to ambush their convoys. Attacking them was suicide. Quill said as much aloud, almost to himself.

“Soooo, ugh,” Tony Stark piped up from the very back. “What do you think we should do?”

Before he could answer, the Sphere ship pinged them.

Rocket squinted at the message, written only.

“It says the Captain of the ship is inviting us on board, if we would care to dock. They promise safe passage.”

Quill pressed his fingers to his forehead. “Ah, what the hell. Tell them yes Rocket, then dock where they advise.”

*****

They’d found Barnes some clothing that fit him, out of Drax’s meagre stash of shirts. His bionic arm was working again and he was normal enough to mulishly refuse to remain on board the Milano.

“If Nat’s on that ship, I’m on that ship. Not arguing about it anymore,” he stated flatly when Quill tried to talk him out of coming along.

“Fine!” Quill threw up his hands. “But don’t freak out and start murdering people, they could vaporize the Milano and I need her.”

In the end Quill, Gamora, the three Avengers and Groot made up their party, leaving Drax to guard the rest of the group. They walked out of the umbilical docking port into a wide corridor that stretched in either direction. Barnes looked grim and cold, glowering around him. Sam walked behind him a pace or two, watching him carefully. Tony was bouncing, cheerful and insouciant. Gamora was…Gamora, unreadable. Groot ambled at the rear, stolid and smiling. 

A servitor robot greeted them, shaped like a humanoid with a few glowing lines suggesting a face and a single wheel for feet. 

“Kind beings, please follow this unit to the main control room. The captain of this ship would greet you in person.” The robot rolled off down the corridor towards the bow.

“This doesn't look much like a whorehouse,” Tony remarked, not noticing Barnes flinching at his words.

“These are service corridors, in the belly of the hull,” said Gamora, her eyes roving in all directions. “The top floors are decadent, many private rooms. If you can afford the Sphere, they will extend all luxuries to bring you to them.”

Three vertical lifts and two more corridors later they were at the door of the bridge. They had met no on else on the trip, not staff or prisoners.

Quill looked around at his party. “Please, please try not to kill any body here. Please. At least until we talk to them?”

As he was speaking, the door slid open onto…well, a very strange bridge crew indeed.

It appeared to be entirely made up of scantily clad…persons, of many races and at least seven genders. As they advanced into the room, Quill noticed scorch marks on the walls and floor, as from blasters, and a few splashes of what looked like body fluids on chairs and panels. The crew were busily cleaning up and checking equipment. The air smelled faintly of burn and blood.

“There was a big fight here, not too long ago,” muttered Sam.

The room was large, a half oval with the curved wall opening out onto a view of the very front decks and then space. In the center of the room sat a large ornate chair with a single figure sitting it it, a hood up over their head. As the Guardians and Avengers approached, the figure rose and turned towards them.

Tony and Sam stopped dead and started laughing. Barnes started forward, his hands reaching out.

Natasha Romanoff pulled down her hood, exposing her flaming hair to the light. She was wearing all black, form fitting clothing that covered her head to toe. She had a patch over one eye.

“Milli Moy! Your eye!” Barnes exclaimed.

Natasha grinned at him, then pulled the patch off to reveal her face unblemished and whole. “I took over a ship on the high seas so to speak. I felt I needed to act the part of pirate queen and there are no parrots around here.”

“Ah, heck, I was looking forward to rescuing you,” Sam said in a sad voice.

“Terribly sorry to disappoint you,” Nat said, then suddenly darted forward to enfold Barnes in her embrace. They began speaking to each other in swift soft Russian as the others relaxed. Gamora looked around at what were now clearly freed body slaves in the process of taking over their captors ship, fierce satisfaction in her eyes. Groot held out his hand and began growing little white flowers on his palm and handing them out with a benevolent expression. 

Quill shook his head, then caught Tony’s eye. “Three down, three to go.”


	7. Steve Rogers, Gladiator

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before he can be rescued, Steve fights his first gladiatorial match in space.

_**Interlude: Hawkeye and Mockingbird** _

Clint slammed his fists against the wall of the dead end he’d turned into. His breath was ripping at his chest, each inhalation like knives in his lungs. 

The most recent torment the Kree had designed was some weird, semi-organic looking labyrinth, the walls unpleasantly squishy and disturbingly mobile. 

They’d dropped he and Bobbi at different sides of the maze and told them to make it to the centre as fast as they could. They’d both been given a few seconds glance at the lay out but…well, he was sure that the walls weren’t staying put. His memory was pretty damn good and this corridor should have been a straight shot towards Bobbi.

His chest hurt because some time ago he’d heard Bobbi scream, pain and anger and fear all mixed up into a soup that sent him sprinting headlong down dimly lit paths, hedged over by a ceiling twice his height.

She screamed again and thank fuck she sounded more enraged than dying and close by! Like the other side of the disgusting pliable like muscle wall close by!

A third scream and Clint found himself clawing at the material of the wall, ripping great chunks of it away with his fingers, his nails cracking and bleeding, the blood mixing with the gross clear slime spurting from the fibres. Suddenly his hand punched through into empty air and he redoubled his efforts, tearing huge gashes away until he could get his body through the hole. 

He half dove half fell into another corridor and now he could hear her, snarling and yelping, with something else there, a chorus of feral growling, up ahead around a corner.

Clint rebounded off the wall and saw Bobbi surrounded by a pack of lizard/dog/insect looking things, all teeth and feet. One of had its huge jaw clamped around her body, its teeth sunk into the flesh under her body suit from just under her breast to her hip, blood streaming down her back. She was stabbing at it with her hands, its eyes ruined, its feelers half torn away. But it was still clamped down on her torso and every time she tried to pull it off the rest of the creatures attacked her.

In deadly silence Clint surged forward, hammering several of the pack into the walls, stepping on one hard enough to break its back, he heard the crunch of its spine. He grabbed the thing attacking Bobbi, one hand on each set of teeth heedless of the razor edges and let the adrenaline and fear and rage surge into his arms and back.

Clint Barton was no super soldier, no god, no gamma-powered monster but he was the greatest archer in human history. He could hold a two hundred and fifty pound recurve bow at full draw in total stillness without effort. 

And this monstrosity was _hurting his little bird_. 

Clint ripped the creature in half, tearing it into two pieces along the seam of its jaw down to its wicked back leg claws. He flung it away from him, one half down the corridor, the other flying up into the air.

Bobbi staggered away from him, looking around wildly. She pointed up, towards the ceiling.

The half of the creature Clint had thrown hadn’t come back down.

Without hesitating—they had that kind of bond, he and his little bird, one step from telepathic—Clint dropped to one knee and cupped his hands in front of him. Bobbi turned, blood still cascading down her side and back, stepped into his hands and half crouched. 

Clint hurled her upwards, and she passed right through the ceiling like it wasn’t there.

Because it wasn’t. The secret of how they were being monitored was now clear.

A slender but sturdy hand thrust down from the false ceiling and Clint gathered himself, then jumped up and caught it. Bobbi’s other hand clamped down over top his and he was hauled bodily through the holographic image. Despite everything, he felt a little stab of sexual pleasure at his wife’s physical strength. He weighed a fair amount and she pulled him up like it was nothing. 

Bobbi’s powerful body was one of the greatest joys of his life, just after her breathtaking intellect and courageous heart. 

He found himself sprawled along the top of one of the walls, undulating unpleasantly under his stomach. 

Bobbi helped him up and they looked around together.

“There,” she said, pointing with one hand towards the centre of the maze and their goal. Her other hand was pressed ineffectually against her still bleeding wounds, trying to staunch the flow at least a little.

Clint slid his arm around her shoulders, supporting her.

Without saying anything they both looked up into the murky air above them, where they assumed their tormentors were watching them.

*****

Ronan blinked at the display, watching the Terrans using the walls as paths towards the centre of the maze.

“Was there some point to that motion?” he asked, knowing he sounded somewhat bewildered.

“Lord, I think that was an obscene gesture in their culture.”

 

*****

_**The Milano, unclaimed space** _

 

No one wanted to delay in getting Steve back, once they’d recovered from the party the former sex slaves had thrown for Natasha. But not even Bucky—at his scary obstreperous best—could argue with Gamora’s logic.

“The Sideshow isn’t a business. It’s a fortress with broadcast feeds. It’s designed to contain some of the most powerful and skilled fighters in the known galaxy, and that means as hard as it is to break out, it’ll be just as hard to break in.”

Looking at the layout of the place, the tech and guards and barriers and roadblocks, the Avengers had to agree. But the Guardians were nothing if not resourceful so despite it taking several day cycles, they had managed to gather the intell needed to get to where Steve was being held.

Unfortunately not before he was forced to fight.

As awful as the situation was, no one could resist the desire to watch the bout.

The Sideshow had not been shy about promoting it, calling Steve “The Greatest Warrior of Terra”. They were pitting him against five other fighters, second and third tier champions apparently, and they were sending him in unarmed. 

Both teams had gathered in the common room of the Milano, the Avengers edgy and unhappy, the Guardians wary but interested.

Rocket spent his time complaining about the cost of the pay per view for the fight. 

The bout was held in a big open space, a huge dirt oval dotted with obstacles, rocks, barriers, pits and trenches. Rising in stepped seating up and up were packed stands on every side, a capacity crowd.

The five fighters were lined up along one wall, two nearly human—both male, hulking and scarred, with swords. One was a female Skrull, thin and tall, with a staff not unlike Mockingbird’s and an air of deranged violence around her that was practically visible. One was arachnoid, perched on four legs and holding four blades in its claws. The last was furred and feral, stalking back and forth with the action of a tiger. 

Steve, when he emerged, looked small and fragile. He was wearing a strappy leather vest and simple leggings. He was damaged, visibly. He had an almost healed black eye, cuts on his neck and arms. When he moved into the light and the camera angle changed whip marks were visible on the backs of his shoulders. He was stiff and moving slowly. 

They had clearly had to kick the shit out of him to control him. He kept glancing back, over his shoulder, at the door that had ejected him onto the arena floor. It was hard to see into the gloom but Natasha managed to get Rocket to enhance the image.

Lined up just out of obvious view were ten small figures, each with a guard behind them and a weapon being held to their heads.

“Kids,” said Sam, disgust and rage in his voice. “That’s how they’re getting him to fight.”

“Oh, man,” Bucky muttered, clutching at Natasha’s hands. “He’s going to go _nuts_ when he gets his hands on whoever thought that up.”

Tony looked at him with narrowed eyes. “This kinda thing happened before?”

Bucky nodded. “In Finland, once. The Finns—they were the hardest fighting, most determined, most ruthless partisans we knew. Hydra took a village hostage to get them to stop attacking and Steve got trapped alone behind the lines and….well, there were guys on our side afraid of him after we found out what he did to that division. Hurting children is one of his…triggers.”

“Be silent,” rumbled Drax. “It begins.”

The fight that followed was—conservatively—a rout. 

Somehow no one died, which was impressive considering how seethingly, almost-out-of-control angry Steve Rogers was. Gamora, Quill, Rocket and Drax started the event making mocking, sarcastic comments back and forth.

That ended as soon as Steve clashed with one of the other fighters, the first to reach him being the beast-creature, not quite feline or canine or porcine but some combo of the three. 

It hurled itself heedlessly off a large rock directly at the unarmed, injured human.

Steve threw it into the stands. 

As it leapt for him, fangs scissoring out like switchblades Steve dropped into a crouch and darted forward, ducking under its claws by a hairsbreadth and swooping up to snatch up its tail as it whipped past. 

He spun the yowling beast like swinging track and field equipment at the end of his arms and hurled it in a huge arc, up over the high walls and into the crowd.

As people screamed and fled in panic, Steve’s face set into a cold, hard expression that was bone-chilling.

He stomped towards the other end of the arena, towards the four skilled, deadly fighters even now moving forward to hunt him.

Captain America was hunting them back. 

One of the swordsmen was next. He was craftier than the beast but only a little. He tried to use his comrade and the Skrull to block his approach to the super soldier’s flank. Steve ignored him until he was too close to get away, then charged him, getting chest to chest and inside the arc of the blade before he could swing it. Steve grabbed his elbows and pushed his arms up, brute force with no finesse. Then he eeled around the man, took his back and pulled him into a choke hold.

At that moment the staff-wielding Skrull attacked. It was almost comical. Steve man (alien?) handled the swordsman in front of him like a human shield, letting him take all the punishment while he choked him unconscious, then dropped him and just…grabbed the staff. 

The Skrull’s eyes bulged as the human casually ripped the weapon out of her grip, snapped it in two over his knee (it was made of metal, not wood, and it still snapped like balsa) and went to town on her, his face still set in that still mask. 

“His double stick work is way better than it used to be,” Bucky remarked, his eyes narrowed critically. 

“He looks like Bobbi,” Sam said. “He must be training with her and they haven’t told the rest of us.”

“I think that’s why he’s doing it. Like…a talisman, to honor her.” Natasha said, her eyes a little misty.

The last swordsman and the spider creature were now hanging well back, appearing to try to goad the other into attacking first. Steve kicked the out on her feet Skrull a few dozen yards away and started towards them.

They charged him together and for a few moments the combination of the big man’s sheer power and the arachnoid’s agility seemed like it might stop Steve in his tracks.

He took blows for the first time, cuts across his chest, shredding the vest, a raking slash to his thigh that sent him stumbling towards the arachnoid. The insect chittered so loudly it could be heard above the demented noise of the crowd and plunged one of its knives into Steve’s shoulder.

It exited his back and he stood, transfixed, for a heartbeat. The insect started to pull its weapon back.

Steve’s right hand came up and grabbed the thing’s “arm” in a grip so strong it cracked its carapace. Behind him the swordsman was running up with his weapon raised, ready to strike a killing blow.

Steve hopped backwards, pulling the arachnoid with him, just in time to slam the exposed tip of the blade in his shoulder into the swordsman’s ribs. He went down, blood pouring from his side, both hands trying to staunch the wound. The arachnoid thrust all three of its remaining weapons towards Steve’s head.

Steve dodged, graceful as a dancer, letting the blades pass over him and threw himself into a ducking, tumbling roll that pulled the blade out his shoulder and flipped the arachnoid onto its back, legs waving frantically.

Calmly, deliberately, Steve stomped on the ends of each of its feet, smashing its pincers so it couldn’t hold weapons any more.

The thing curled all its maimed legs into its body and lay trembling on the sand.

The crowd roared to its feet, screaming “Terran! Terran! Terran!”. The feed cut out as Steve was turning back towards the opening he’d come out of, his face still grim as death, his chest streaming blood. 

“Holy shit,” Star-Lord said into the silence on the Milano.

“Well, he’s a little peeved,” Sam answered his unspoken question.

“Now _that_ is a man!” Gamora purred.

“I am moved by his skill,” Drax rumbled. “I could weep with its beauty.”

“I am Groot.”

“You said it, big fella,” Rocket nodded.

“Groot’s right,” Star-Lord said. “They are going to move him into the special cells, in the interior of the ship. Good for him—that’s where they keep the fighters they want to keep alive so they’re treated better—bad for us ‘cause it just made it twenty times harder to get at him.”

Tony opened his mouth to say something then stopped, his head cocked like a dog hearing a bag of potato chips opening. 

“Oh,’ he said softly, a huge smile splitting his face. “If you think we’re going to need extra fire power, then have I got some news for you.”

The air in the room went still and then seemed to vibrate to some celestial chiming noise. A flash of light—like a multi colored St. Elmo’s Fire—cascaded across the surface of every piece of metal, Bucky’s arm, their weapons, the hull itself.

A holo display snapped open in front of Tony, showing the empty space at the nose of the ship. 

And suddenly it wasn’t empty.

A big blond man with his face uncovered despite the vaccuum, a suit of red and gold armor and a slender figure in a silvery space suit appeared, surrounded by a rainbow halo that cut off abruptly. The armor fired maneuvering jets and started towing the two figures and a bulky case towards the Milano.

“Hows the God of Thunder, my Mark XXX armor and a Hulk sound for back up?”


	8. Breaking out the Captain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Avengers and the Guardians break out Captain America.
> 
> Things go quite briskly off the rail.

“All right, folks, let’s do this,” said Star-Lord over the coms.

Bucky looked at Natasha, standing next to him in the cargo bay at the far side of the Sideshow’s ship/arena/fortress. They were both dressed in red robes from head to toe, covering even their eyes. Apparently this marked them as members of a medical religious order sworn to silence. Right now though, they were alone.

“Why, exactly, are we trusting this lunatic again?”

“Because we can’t punch, sneak, bargain or threaten our way to Steve. This is officially a heist and that‘s the Guardians specialty.”

“I’d prefer to take my chances fighting, I mean we have Thor and the Hulk now.”

“We’re going to need them against Ronan and it’s usually better not to send up a fireworks display pointing to your secret weapons before you even start your end game.”

Bucky grunted reluctant assent.

In truth, the tanks were the back up to this plan. If they couldn’t manage the complicated shenanigans needed to get to where Steve was being housed, Thor advised he would simply start hurling Mjolnir about till there wasn’t enough ship left to guard.

He and Nat were wearing primitive HUD goggles under their wrappings, which let them see through the fabric and relayed the positions of the rest of the teams.

The bay door in front of them slid open onto a corridor, filled with people. At the same time the countdown started at the edge of their vision. 

22:00  
21:59  
21:58

Bucky and Nat walked in slowly, moving in precise time and stately precision, making crisp heel turns at corners. They had been the only pair of the whole combined force who could do the body language correctly, so the spearhead of the plan was theirs.

Everyone else would be timing their actions to the pair of red dots advancing through the corridors and common areas of the Sideshow, moving closer and closer to the heavily guarded heart of the combat deck, where Steve had been moved.

From what Rocket and Tony had been able to glean from the computer system, Steve had been moved to ‘champion suite’ the day before, by force. They’d seen the videos of him being dragged snarling and raging out of the common pit that housed most of the fighters—and apparently in some cases their families, as the child hostages that had been used to make Steve fight had been seen in the background.

Though none of them said it, the Avengers were actually glad to see Steve screaming mad. His eerie emotionless demeanor after the Bartons were taken had been horrifying to them. 

Angry Steve was scary but at least it was closer to normal. 

Two more corridors and they were about to hit the first check point. Without pausing, the Winter Soldier and the Black Widow glided around the last corner like a pair of crimson ghosts.

They were in a dead end, with a shielded door and four guards facing them. Neither of them broke stride, moving in tik tok precision, despite the fact that Bucky was nearly a foot taller than Natasha. 

They came to a stop before the door and Natasha extended a gloved hand to proffer a small crystal in her palm. The main guard—a big female something with skin hardened into sheets like armor—plucked it from her grip and tossed it at a computer read out next to the check point. It skimmed through the air then stilled, hovering, over the surface of the computer.

There was a pause.

18:09  
18:08  
18:07

Right now, back on the Milano, Rocket, Tony and Bruce were frantically rerouting data, command structures and internal sensors to drive the terminal’s query to their mainframe and not the actual one. They’d get one shot at it, it had to be done live and a single screw up would mean all hell was about to break loose here. 

Alien script scrolled up the face of the screen. “You’re here for the new champion eh? Terran’s are a fragile bunch, right? Not surprised he needs special attention.”

The guards stepped back, opening the shield and allowing the “doctors” through. The shield was snapped shut behind them.

Step one, completed. 

Now they were just trapped inside the heavily protected core of a slave ship, surrounded by armed people with expensive weapons. They had…two pairs of goggles and Bucky’s arm.

Easy. 

They made their way further and further into the living areas of the ship, past holding pens, what seemed like torture chambers, training rooms. They were all packed with people, guards, fighters, staff. No one paid them any attention at all. They took several movers, like elevators that could go in any direction. Gradually the industrial metal of the walls molted into fabric and decorations. There were fewer people in the corridors now, and nearly all of the Sideshow enforcers. The only fighter they saw was a tall reptilian female being escorted under guard to what appeared to be her personal quarters.

The map super imposed on their goggles showed that Steve’s cell was one right turn away. Bucky wanted to stop and check in with Natasha but he couldn’t. They had to press on and run with what ever happened.

14:00  
13:59  
13:58

Steve’s door wasn’t guarded. That was how cocky the Sideshow was.

Bucky touched the entry lock with his bionic arm and sort of…twitched it…in his mind. He controlled the arm like his own but there were way of getting it to do some very special things.

Back on the Milano a fountain of data appeared on their shared screens and Rocket and Tony started to bludgeon lock into submission. 

With a soft sigh, the door opened.

Bucky and Nat entered fast, not really registering what was in the big open room, just trying to get out of sight. As it closed behind them Bucky moved into the middle of the room, facing the low wide bed against one wall.

It held two figures. Half-naked human looking females, huddling against each other in pure terror.

Then something hit him from the side, lifting him up and slamming into the floor a few body lengths away. He took several punches, hard, to the face and torso before he grabbed one of the fists in his bionic arm.

Then he heard Natasha yelling.

“Steve get off him. It’s James. Get off him.”

Bucky got his knees between himself and his assailant and threw him off, rolling to his feet and ripping off his facial covering. A few feet away Steve was holding in a feral crouch, his face cold and hard. He was shirtless, wearing long skin-tight pants and barefoot. He looked from Bucky to Natasha and back, then barked: “What was my mother’s name?”

“Sarah,” Bucky responded instantly. 

“Where did you first meet Falcon?” 

“At his back door after everyone we knew tried to kill us,” Natasha responded.

Steve stood up, a look of relief and regret passing over him. “Oh, thank God,” he whispered. “Are you alone?”

“We have everyone but the Bartons back,” Natasha reassured him swiftly

“The rest of the team is waiting to pull us out, once we get you out of here—”

“No.”

“What?”

“We’re leaving here, yeah, but not to an extraction. We’re going down to the pens and breaking everyone out.” Steve turned to the women in the bed, speaking gently. “Remember I told you about my friends? These are them. We’ll get you and your family out now.”

Both women leapt out of bed and began gathering up piles of clothing, pulling on shirts and pants in crude, cheap looking cuts. Feeling sick, Bucky realized they must be ‘rewards’ for Steve’s win. He bet they’d been unable to believe it when he went to sleep on the floor.

Bucky and Natasha exchanged a look. Natasha pursed her lips. “Steve, we don’t have room on our ship for all these—”

“Then we’ll steal something,” Steve said impatiently. 

“The plan was just to get you out and come back for the kids when we had the Bartons,” Bucky said slowly.

Steve had stalked over to a bunch of blankets turned into a nest on the floor, finding a shirt in the same tight fabric and pulling it on.

“Not going to fly. They told me if I escaped they’d kill everyone in my holding pen. So we go get them now.”

“We don’y have enough disguises for all those people,” Bucky objected, feeling the situation slipping away from him rapidly. “Or even the people in this room.

“You have one for me?”

“Yes.” 

“Then it’s all fine. We’re just escorting these two ladies back to their pen.”

*****

Astonishingly, it worked. They made it all the way down to the holding pen without being challenged, Bucky and Steve each with a red gloved hand on one woman’s shoulder and Natasha leading the way.

And that was even with listening to Rocket scream and rail at them through their earpieces, deriding Steve as a stupid sentimental humie, all three of them as idiots who deserved to die.

Quill had sounded equally upset but his comments had been restricted to: “This is not cool, dude,” before Gamora had broken in.

“How many people are in the pen?”

“About thirty per, three of them total.”

Gamora didn’t sound upset, she sounded amazed. “Drax and I will find a transport for them. Get them to the dock as fast as possible.”

And so they’d made their way back down to the common areas. They were coming up on the first of the pens, the one where Steve had been held, when they were stopped by a troupe of guards, five of them, humanoids. The biggest one—a scarred male with blue skin—huffed at the two women they were leading, his face angry.

“What are you doing back here? You’re supposed to be up with the new champion. Did you make him angry, you useless sluts?” He yelled.

Steve, dressed in the same red robes Bucky and Nat had on, took his hand off the woman’s shoulder, stepped up to the guy and punched him. He went down like someone had cut off his feet. Bucky, who as soon as he heard the word ‘slut’ knew what was going to happen was already coming forward, taking out the guard on the right. He and Steve picked up a third together and slammed them into the wall and when they turned around it was to see Natasha standing over the uncurious bodies of the last two. 

The whole exchange had lasted maybe ten seconds. 

Steve picked up the body of the first guy he’d hit and carried it over to a wide double door, pressing the unconscious man’s palm onto the entry lock. The door slid open to a long, dark dormitory space, with people peering out from behind makeshift curtains and looking towards the door. 

“Go,” said Steve. “Explain to them what’s happening. Get everyone up and moving. “ The two women darted past him, already shouting and exclaiming in some strange alien patois. Steve humped the guard down the corridor and repeated his actions on two more doors, then dropped the man in a corner.

In minutes the corridor was flooded with people of dozens of races, all looking ragged and terrified. Steve took charge of the group of children and began herding them all up the corridor, in the direction that Natasha indicated as towards the docking bays. Everyone else followed, as per usual with Steve. The guy could start a parade just walking down the street. 

They were attacked three times, twice from the front (which the three Avengers handily repulsed) and once from a hidden side corridor. They lost seven people before Steve and Bucky could get back to the conflict but once the tide starting turning many fighters emerged from the group, snatching up their opponents fallen weapons to form their own cordon. Steve went among them, reassuring and praising them. When they started out again, they had rear guards and protectors threaded throughout the crowd. 

After the third attack they went unmolested, which seemed strange—until the opened the doors to the docking bay and found it in an uproar. Iron Man and Falcon swooped through the air, blasting targets. Gamora, Drax and Groot were hacking, slashing and stomping their way through a crowd of guards, holding a perimeter around two large cargo ships and the Milano.

Steve stepped to one side, pulling the children and their families with him. Bucky and Natasha joined him. 

The freed slave-fighters and their hostages rolled over the remaining guards from behind like a wave of vengeance.

After that it was just a car chase in space.

*****

Rocket had set the Milano to auto pilot, cruising through empty space in the general direction of where the Dark Aster was holed up. They couldn’t have jumped any closer and they had several hours of travel in front of them. 

Everyone was gathered in the main common room.

After the greetings and explanations of how the Avengers had variously escaped or been rescued, things got tense. Mantis was huddling in the shadows, her antenna twitching with agitation. Groot was standing next to her, gently touching her hair. 

Steve and Quill were faced off in the centre of the room, both of them practically bristling with rage. Quill had started in with an explosive burst of angry words minutes ago and they had barely slowed.

“And if any of my people had been hurt or killed it would have been your fault you self-righteous ahole! You just throw out my plan—and it was a good plan!—because you want to be the big savior—”

“They were going to kill the children if I escaped,” Steve ground out, his voice low and cold.

“You don’t know that! In fact, I think we all know they wouldn’t have! They needed them as hostages on their families, you’re not the most important person in the galaxy you know! Here we are, risking our lives to save all you helpless idiots from problems you created for yourselves—”

Bucky was drifting forward, shrugging off Natasha’s warning hand. From the way Steve’s shoulders were squaring up things were about to get bad. On the other side of the group, so did Thor and Falcon. In response, Drax and Gamora put hands on their weapons.

“That’s not strictly true though, is it? Star Lord?” Tony suddenly cut in, managing to drown out even Quill’s angry near shout. The other human froze as the words registered. “I mean, this being our fault? Okay, sure, Bobbi messed up their invasion but that’s not why the big blue guy is mad, right?”

Tony slid into the centre of the room, making a triangle. Quill’s throat was working like he wanted to say something but couldn’t. 

“Ronan’s not mad cause we stopped his invasion of earth, he’s mad because everyone around these parts _knows we did_. I wonder how that happened?”

Tony looked smug and triumphant at the same time.

“How the hell do you know about that, Iron Jerk?” Rocket snapped, scampering over and rearing up on his hind legs.

Quill sighed and covered his eyes. “Way to confirm everything Rocket.”

Tony opened his palm at the raccoon. “My computer can beat up your computer,” he said.

“Oh you asshole,” Rocket snarled, then spun around and dove for the panel that he and Tony had modified when he first arrived.

“It’s too late, trash panda. Jarvis is already in your systems, looking through all your stuff,” Tony called out at his back. 

Gamora moved closer to Quill, looking only at him. “Peter, it’s time to tell them, like I said.”

“Tell us what?” Steve asked, his voice like a dead thing frozen in ice.

“Oh, that the Guardians are at fault for your abduction, enslavement and most likely your friends torturous death,” Drax rumbled.


	9. Well, this should be fun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Avengers react to finding out their current predicament is the Guardians fault

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short chapter, because I couldn’t bear leaving it any longer

_Interlude: Dark Aster_

_Hawkeye and Mockingbird’s cell_

“Bobbi, quit squirming,” Clint said in a tired voice. He was gently re-bandaging her back, the punctures caused by the maze monster still occasionally weeping blood and … other things. Somehow when she’d collapsed in the corridor, burning up and raving with fever, as they were being escorted to yet another inventive torture session, Clint had talked Korath into taking her to the doctors right away. And once they were there he’d convinced them to let him have some of the first aid supplies they’d used on her. 

After that they’d been dragged back to their new cell—which had an actual bed and suitable toilet and a light they could control themselves—and left alone for what felt like a day. 

“That ointment itches,” she said in an equally tired voice. “Which is better than burns but not by much.” Still, she held as still as she could, giving Clint a chance to finish his methodical smearing and taping session. Then he wiped down her bare skin with a clean-ish towel and cleaned the grey goo off his fingers. She sighed and rolled onto her right side, away from the bite and smiled at him. He stretched out next to her and they lay there for a while, just staring at each other.

“So,” she said softly, after a long time of them both just looking. 

“Don’t say it,” Clint said, leaning in to kiss her. She leaned in herself, and they both closed their eyes when their lips met. She was gentle with him—he’d nearly had his jaw broken by Tanalth after they completed the maze, both of them hyped up on adrenaline and fighting mad. 

At some point they both fell asleep, so Clint got his wish.

Bobbi never said out loud the thing they both knew was coming. It was only logical. She’d always been the target of Ronan’s ire and he no more than a tool to be used to hurt her. After their performance in the maze, after they’d out-fought four armed guards and Ronan had to send down his elites to subdue them, after they’d been dragged off in trails of blood and rage they could both tell Ronan had finally figured out his mistake.

Having Clint there didn’t make Bobbi afraid. It made her strong. 

Clint only had one use left for the Kree warlord.

Execution.

*****

Everyone in the Milano looked at Drax, except for Peter Quill.

Star Lord just sat down and put his head in his hands. 

The big green skinned man looked slightly non-plussed. “Why do you all gaze at me?”

Steve Rogers narrowed his eyes at him. “Well I just got here, so I don’t know any of you. Other than being very grateful you rescued my team and myself…I’m not sure what you meant there?”

Gamora cut in, after giving Quill’s back a frustrated glare. “The short answer is—the reason the galaxy knows about Ronan being repulsed from your planet by one woman is that we were responsible for the footage leaking.”

“Why did you even have footage of that?” Sam Wilson said in a cautious voice.

“I’m half Terran,” Quill said through his hands, his voice muffled. “I keep track of the place. When we saw Ronan headed there we chased him. We—I—thought he was going there to get revenge on me.”

“I am Groot,” Groot said slowly, looking over at Rocket, who was buried head deep in an open panel and cursing fluently, apparently only now seeing the modifications Tony had made to his computers. Stark was leaning on the bulkhead next to him, grinning. The raccoon emerged to glare at the tree.

“I only did it because Quill told me too!” He shouted, then dove back in. 

“What did you tell him to do?” Natasha said, moving forward. 

“I wasn’t…” Quill looked up, around the room, distressed. “I didn’t expect…”

Gamora put her hand on his shoulder. “We expected to see Terra burn. Even more after we thought we watched you all die. And then this woman—this lone women, with no powers or implants or abilities? She drives the Kree from your planet by spitting in the face of their most feared warlord?” She shook her head, speechless. “Then you all appeared, not dead. Ronan, outsmarted and outmatched by a bunch of Terrans? The pride of the Kree fleet, humiliated?”

“The Kree are major assholes,” Rocket popped out of the panel to contribute. “They experiment on other species, take slaves, slaughter whole planets. You know what it meant to a bunch of people being ground down by the Kree, to see Ronan afraid? To see him run like that? It was fucking inspiring.”

“So that’s how I got rescued from the slave market,” Sam exclaimed. “That’s what she meant!”

“Yes,” Gamora nodded. “We witnessed the whole thing from the far side of Jupiter. The images were being freely broadcast, by your satellites.”

“And when I realized what happened, I told Rocket to get it onto the broadwave system, out to every species with the tech to watch it,” Quill said, standing up abruptly. “Now, I gotta admit I wasn’t thinking about inspiring anyone at the time. I was thinking it was awesome to see Ronan getting laughed at. But yeah, okay. I told Rocket to do it, so it’s my fault.” He looked at Steve, who was also standing, flanked by Bucky and a deeply fascinated Thor. “You’re still a jerk for screwing up my plan but _I guess_ the whole thing being my fault in the first place makes us even.”

In the last few hours the Guardians had seen Steve Rogers dialled up to maximum: the perfect soldier, the implacable warrior, the stubborn, righteous man. All of them, even Drax and Groot were eying the big blond with trepidation. He stared at Star Lord, his face blank and set, then transferred his gaze to each of the Guardians in turn, including Rocket, who’d popped back out of the panel and seemed uncharacteristically cowed by the fraught atmosphere in the room. 

Bucky moved forward again, drifting like a cloud, the servos in his bionic arm whining very faintly. 

Thor had his hand on Mjolnir.

Banner took off his glasses.

Tony stepped up next to his exoatmospheric armor. 

Natasha’s wrists glowed blue. 

Sam unclipped his gun. 

Steve…

Steve Rogers laughed.

He laughed, a deep rich noise that echoed through the room, through the ship. He laughed, backing away from his team till he could see all of them and all the Guardians.

Star Lord turned with him, his eyes wide. “What the hell, man?”

“The hell is…is…” Steve pressed a hand to his chest, over his heart. “The hell is I’m a ninety eight pound art nerd from Brooklyn.” He pointed at each Avenger in turn.

“Bucky should be a construction worker with three ex wives. Nat was programmed to be a killer. Bruce should be dead and Tony should be drinking himself into an early grave. Sam’d be okay—bored but okay. Thor’s the only person here who’d be about the same one way or the other. And you’re telling me we helped change _worlds_?”

Steve threw his hands in the area, his expression almost manic for him. “Clint should have turned into his abusive father! Bobbi should be a bored, lonely scientist, married to a man who treated her badly. And there are whole planets in this universe that rose up and threw off oppressive regimes because of them?”

Tony snickered suddenly, into the pause.

“Bobbi’s going to be insufferable when she finds that out,” he said, grinning.

Steve walked over and clasped him by the shoulder, nodding. Then he turned and looked back at the Guardians, all but Groot staring open-mouthed. “I don’t appreciate us being dragged half-naked off our planet and sold into slavery, not by a long shot. And I don’t appreciate it when people act without thinking about the consequences of their actions. So, yes, next time maybe don’t do that? But you did expend a lot of effort to rescue us, so…well, if and when we get Bobbi and Clint back safely, we’ll call it even?”

Steve sat down abruptly, still laughing a little under his words. 

Bucky took him by the arm and pulled him to his feet. “Somewhere he can sleep a bit? I think he needs it.” The two super soldiers left with Gamora, down the stairs to the personal deck. Natasha handed off a few of their special ration bars as they passed, to a grateful look from Bucky.

Steve went docily, almost giggling.

“I…that…is he okay?” Star Lord asked, staring after them.

“I suspect we just saw ‘over-tired, low blood sugar’ Steve. A rare occurrence,” Natasha responded.

“He was not wrong, though,” rumbled Thor. “Your actions were ill-favoured but well intended. I can only pray we are not too late to save out archer and stick-wielding valkyrie.”

“Yeah, about that,” Rocket said. “I just saw a broad wave from the Dark Aster, inviting a bunch of Kree high mucky-mucks and general low lives to join them for a big event. I think I know what it is.”

“Clint,” Natasha murmured, her expression darkening.

“Totally reads as ‘public execution’”, Rocket agreed with her.

“How much time do we have?” Bruce Banner said, picking up his glasses and nervously polishing them.

“Maybe eighteen hours?” Rocket offered, uncertainly.

“So we let Steve sleep for four, then we have thirteen hours to plan how to break onto a massive war ship, which will be surrounded by a fleet of other war ships and guarded by thousands of troops, not to mention the Kree warrior elite,” said Sam. 

“In space,” Tony reminded him.

“Pretty much,” Star Lord agreed.

“Nice.” Sam said with a grin. “This should be fun.”


	10. The Chopping Block

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobbi and Clint are taken before Ronan to face the impossible choice: execution or slavery.

Steve Rogers stuck his head out of the cabin door in an unusually furtive manner. 

Sam Wilson and Natasha Romanoff were leaning against the wall opposite, looking at him. He grimaced and straightened up, squaring his shoulders and stepping into the corridor. "Have you been there the whole time?" 

"We did shifts. I mean not Thor and Tony--" Sam said. 

"Jarvis told us you'd come out of REM sleep twenty minutes ago," Natasha interrupted, tossing her head. 

"Spoilsport," Sam muttered. 

"I was partnered with Clint for years, my patience is a razor wire and I will garrote you with it." 

Steve ran a hand through his hair. "Sitrep," he...well not quite barked. Gruffed maybe. 

Sam gestured down the corridor towards the common area and they started walking. 

"Ronan's gathered the rest of the Accuser Corps and a bunch of Kree high mucky-mucks on the Dark Aster. They're planning to publically execute Hawkeye in about twelve hours," Sam said, calmly. 

Steve stopped dead and stared at them both, appalled. "He's going to do what?" 

"He announced he's going to execute the 'Terran criminal Hawkeye for his offenses against the Kree Empire'," said Natasha precisely. 

"Is he _an idiot_?" Steve exclaimed. 

The other two nodded. "It's the big grey eyes," Sam said thoughtfully. "They make you think she's this sweet thing and then she beats up seventeen guys and defuses a bomb blindfolded and out argues Bruce Banner and you remember she's basically a one woman revolution." 

"Still, we should probably rescue them. Just to get in on the action," said Natasha. 

Just before they got to the last door, Steve stopped them. "How big a fool did I make of myself?" 

Sam and Nat exchanged a look. 

"Manic toddler," Sam supplied. 

"Clint on a bender," Natasha said at the same time. 

Steve leaned his head into the wall and moaned. "I hadn't eaten or slept since the auction you know," he whispered plaintively. "I was out of my mind." 

"Bobbi's going to yell you back into deepfreeze when she finds out you haven't been eating," Natasha said, her voice firm, but she was smiling behind his back. Sam exchanged grins with her. 

"Right," Steve said suddenly, his posture going ramrod perfect. When he turned back to them, they were both straight faced. "Let's make sure she has the chance." 

The door opened to Star Lord, Gamora, Drax, The Winter Soldier and Thor leaning over a table with a holographic map of the Dark Aster suspended above it. Tony and Rocket were by his Iron Man Exosuit, snatching bits of tech from each others hands and arguing in low intense voices. They were both clearly having the time of their lives. 

Groot and Bruce were further back in the shadows, apparently having a very serious chat. 

Everyone looked up when the last three entered the room. 

"Feeling better, punk?" Bucky called as soon as he saw Steve. 

"I was until I saw you," Steve retorted. He stopped and let Sam and Natasha walk past him. "I apologize for my...display earlier." 

"You seemed very foolish yet the cold warrior here assures us you are a serious man. I shall wait and see," said Drax. 

Sam stopped dead, looking from Drax to Bucky and back. "Why have I literally never noticed the Russians named you the Cold Warrior?" 

Bucky grimaced. "I try not to draw attention to it. Some wag in Hydra-Russia thought it was funny." He got a very fierce look on his face. "If any of you ever tell the Bartons may I remind you I was the greatest assassin on the planet for fifty years?" Natasha drifted up next to him and laid her hand on his flesh arm, her eyes bright with laughter. 

Steve snorted. "Zip it you two." 

"It is good to see you back to yourself, Captain. The Lord of the Stars here has been out lining his plan for the rescue of our comrades. Perhaps you would care to examine it?" Thor intoned in that weirdly formal and yet lyrical rhythm he got when he was translating things from Asgardian to English in his head. A certain odd stillness settled on the group. Gamora made an aborted gesture as though she wanted to clasp Star Lord comfortingly on the shoulder. 

Star Lord cocked his head, a cheeky grin on his face, but his eyes were anxious. 

Steve shook his head slowly. "This is not my...idiom. Space fighting I mean. I'd rather sit back and learn from the people who've got the experience." He took a deep breath. "Which I should have done before." He stepped up across from Star Lord and extended his hand, which was taken in a firm grasp. "One team leader to another, the Avengers will follow your lead, Mr Quill. But--" he continued, "Once the Bartons are safe can I suggest you Guardians might want to...get out of the blast radius?" 

"What do you mean?" Gamora asked. 

"I mean apparently everyone here owes Ronan a beating but this time I'm claiming first rights. He kidnapped us for daring to defend our home. He's been torturing my friends and now he's threatening to kill one of them?" Steve's eyes narrowed. "That's just ... I really don't like bullies," he finished, his voice strong and stern and serious. 

"Ha!" crowed Drax. "You seem like far less of a simpleton when you speak in that manner!" 

Without blinking, Steve looked over at Tony. "You're never going to let me forget _that_ either are you?" 

***** 

When the Kree came for the Bartons, they were awake and sitting on their pallet together. Clint was sitting almost in Bobbi’s lap, his back against her chest as she rubbed his scalp with her fingers. He was making little contented gurgling noises, eyes closed. When the door opened to admit Korath and Tanalth — with a bevy of guards in the hallway — they just slowly untangled themselves, wordlessly. No surprise, no fear. Just a few calm movements and then they were standing next to each other at the end of the bed. 

Korath shook his head at them. “Lord Ronan summons you, Terrans. You will attend him.” 

“Since he’s going to kill Clint, can we at least hold hands?” Bobbi asked quietly. 

“How do you know that?” Tanalth said in an irritated voice. 

“Because I’m a fucking genius, you giant blueberry,” Bobbi responded without rancour. 

Korath and Tanalth exchanged a shrug, then Korath nodded. “Take what comfort you can from your mate, I suppose,” he said in a tired voice. 

Clint took Bobbi’s right hand and they exited their cell with their ‘honor’ guard. 

Ronan picked what seemed to be a large cargo bay for Clint’s execution. It was clear to the walls but for his throne, a wide low plinth and a huge crowd of aliens. Most were blue-skinned Kree but there were blocks and continents of other species, a rainbow of skin colors and decorations. 

They were all looking at the Terrans as they entered the room, flanked by guards, Korath and Tanalth behind them. Crossing the threshold, Bobbi looked back at Korath. 

“You were always kinder than you needed to be,” she said softly. “Thank you.” 

Clint looked at Tanalth. “You were always horrible, I hope you get incurable athletes foot.” 

Tanalth opened her mouth to spit something back at him just as Ronan’s voice boomed out, magnified by his armor. Her mouth snapped shut into a furious line. 

“Bring the Terran criminals before me!” Ronan called. 

Bobbi and Clint, still clutching hands, walked slowly and calmly into the semi-circle of gloating, mocking Kree that Ronan had surrounded himself with. At a gesture from the warlord the guards on either side moved to pull them apart. They released their hands and stepped away from each other before anyone could touch them. 

“Terrans, you are both accused of capital crimes against the Kree Empire,” Ronan boomed again. Little flying drones swarmed the air above them, clearly acting as cameras. They intended to broadcast Clint’s death to the galaxy. “You are undeniably guilty and Ronan is not one to show much concern for criminals.” He paused dramatically. 

“Referring to yourself in third person is a crime against basic decency,” Clint said with an eye roll. Bobbi laughed, a joyful peel of noise. 

“God I love you _so fucking much_ ,” she choked out. 

Ronan’s hand jerked once, as though he wanted to clench it into a fist, then he continued as though they had never spoken. “I have decided it is time for one of you to pay the price for your corruption of the natural order—Kree are simply meant to rule you lesser species!” 

A roar went up from around the room, loud enough to stun the ears for a moment. 

On the dying sound, Ronan rose to his feet and pointed at Clint. “You, the Terran male known as Hawkeye—this is your moment of execution. Do you have any last words?” 

Hawkeye cocked his head and nodded. “Yeah. Wilson, you owe me twenty bucks still you better give it to Nat or I’m coming back to haunt your skinny—” 

Tanalth punched him in the back, sending him flying to Ronan’s feet. Bobbi rounded on her for a heartbeat, then turned and leapt for Clint. They sat on the hard metal floor together, arms around each other, mouths buried in each other’s necks until the guards pulled them apart. 

“You Terrans are appalling,” Ronan sneered. “Some small facility at war and you think you can compete with the great cultures of this universe? You are crass, ridiculous children!” 

Clint was dragged away from Bobbi to the long plinth, forced to his knees, his head pressed to the stone-like surface. Ronan himself hefted his war hammer and moved towards him. 

He stopped abruptly and looked at Bobbi. “But never let it be said that the Kree cannot be merciful! Even to such insects as these. You, female. Your disrespect and defiance are famous now, against all rational thought. If you kneel before me, declare yourself my slave forever more, I might — even now, after all your coarse impertinence — spare the male’s life. He will be sent far from here, to the ends of the empire, to toil for his betters. But he will live.” He pointed his war hammer at her, looking her directly in the eyes. 

“Choose. Slavery or your mate’s life.’ 

A strange, fraught silence fell. Bobbi's face, which could be obscenely expressive when she wanted it to be, was frozen in a still cold mask. She looked from Ronan to Clint, slowly. Clint smiled at her. "He's lyin' little bird. He tried the same thing with me. He's lyin'." His voice was clear and calm. Then the guard holding him lifted up his head by the hair and slammed his cheek into the plinth. He snarled and heaved his shoulders, tossing both guards back and forth a moment. 

"I don't think he is," Bobbi whispered. 

"Don't care," Clint hissed, through a bloody mouth. "Don't do it." 

"My hawk--" she swallowed the rest of her words, her arms coming up to press against her own chest as though she needed comfort. 

Slowly, like a marionette being manipulated by an inexperienced puppeteer, she walked to Ronan, staring up at him. He was as stone faced as her but there was triumph in his eyes. 

Mockingbird knelt before the Kree Warlord. He placed his warhammer in the floor in front of her, holding it by the top of the handle. Gulping, she bent at the waist and kissed the darkly gleaming head. 

Clint cried out, a wordless noise of protest, the only sound in the room. His whole body went limp, as though he'd had his heart ripped out. 

Looking down at Ronan's feet,, still bent over with her arms clutching her torso again. Bobbi waited till his cry died away and then spoke. Her smooth alto was hoarse and halting, but loud. 

"I, Bobbi Barton of Terra, declare that I am--" 

Her right hand came down off her chest fast as a snake. Metal gleamed between her fingers as they slammed forward, leaving the scalpel she had palmed from the medical bay embedded in Ronan's foot. She originally gotten it so they could commit suicide together, but Clint had just said "Steve'd want us to go out fighting". That had been enough. 

It had been hard to conceal, with the form fitting suits they were wearing,...at least until they were holding hands, the sharp blade pressed against the flat of her forearm. Ronan roared, raising his hammer up reflexively. Bobbi wrapped her palms around the shaft and he pulled her up too, until their faces were level. 

"--surprised you fell for that _again_. You should form a support group with Thor." Then she lunged forward, laced her hands around the back of his head and bit him, worrying at his cheek like an angry dog. 

Clint threw himself backwards against the grips of his guards. They were both blue-skinned Kree, almost seven feet tall and with the massive build of their kinds. But Clint Barton could hold a 230lb bow at full draw for longer than Captain America. He tossed them off like leaves, unprepared for the bleeding, seemingly broken human's sudden attack. Screams and shouts rose up from the crowd as Clint rose up and started throwing punches, laughing wildly. 

Ronan grabbed Bobbi around the waist and ripped her off him, pulling her teeth free of his face. She came away with a chunk of meat in her mouth and her face covered in thick blue blood. In startled disgust he dropped her and she spat her mouthful at his feet, then turned and leapt to cover Clint's back. It was hopeless. It was useless. It was insane. 

The Bartons were in their happy place: together and they didn't have to worry about who they hit or how hard. 

They had both always been at their best when they had nothing left to lose. 

It went on longer than it should have and they did more damage than any rational person could have predicted. Clint dislocated Galen-Kor's arm with a single brutal shoulder throw, tossing the gigantic Kree warrior into a bevy of armed guards closing on him. Bobbi got a thumb into Yon-Rogg's right eye, sending him screaming and reeling into Korath, blood spraying them both. By the time they were finally subdued they were both covered in blue Kree blood and laughing like maniacs. 

A medical crew had appeared and extracted the scalpel from Ronan's foot, bandaged his face. Apparently that was what had kept him too preoccupied to turn on the pain inducers still in Clint and Bobbi's necks. 

He radiated embarrassed fury like a star. As the humans were thrown to the ground in front of him it appeared for a moment that he was simply going to curb stomp them both. Then he just waved his hand at the plinth and they were both dragged over and had their heads pressed to the cool material. By chance or in some final mercy their heads were turned towards each other before they were strapped down by the foreheads, nearly close enough to touch noses.. No more escape attempts. 

Ronan stepped up before Bobbi and Tanalth took a similar position over Hawkeye, gloating at him. 

Here, at the end, far from home and expecting no reprieve the Bartons stared each other in the eyes and smiled. 

The two Kree raised their war hammers over their heads and let them fall at the same time. Bobbi and Clint grabbed each others upper arm. 

**_KWAAAANNNNNGGGGG_**

The noise was literally deafening, a huge reverberating shudder that hit both the Bartons in the face like a slap in the same instant a shadow fell over them. 

Ronan and Tanalth were literally blown off their feet as their hammers rebounded off the barrier. The front row of guards and guests was scythed down as well. The only person left standing was the Kree guardsman holding the...shield that had saved the Bartons. The round shield. 

"Hey Cap," Bobbi said sweetly. "How's my camotech treating you?" She spoke loudly, ears still ringing. 

"It's awful," said Steve Rogers's voice, also loudly, from that Kree face, which suddenly fitzed out like a failing light bulb. Captain America in full regalia stood over them. He had a little runnel of blood trickling from his nose. "My _eyes_ itch." 

"You get used to it," she replied. 

Cap's free hand came down and snapped the metal binding them to the plinth. They surged up, flanking him. 

The three humans stood facing off against the might of the Kree Empire. Ronan was back on his feet, his warhammer in two pieces on the ground. 

"Man, we are hard on those weapons," said Clint. 

"Ronan the Accuser," Captain America said clearly and calmly. "Consider this a stay of execution. Let us leave, peacefully, and stay away from the Sol system from now on and this is over." 

"Over!" Ronan howled. "Over! This isn't over till those two vermin are dead and you have taken their place as my toy, your arrogant worm!" 

"I think that's the name of a band," Bobbi mused. "The arrogant worms?" 

"What do you think you can do here, human? Alone with two half-broken slaves as your army? You have only delayed their deaths a few moments and ensured your own torment. I will use that toy of yours to grind your bones to dust," Ronan snarled. 

"You want this?" Steve said, hefting his shield with a quizzical look. "Catch." 

He spun and hurled the shield with his classic sidearm pitch, straight at Ronan and his elite. They had the good sense to scatter out of the way, as did the people behind them, clearing a path to the far wall of the huge room. 

Clearing a path to the Winter Soldier, who caught the shield with his bionic arm like it was nerf dart. 

"Oh, right," Said Steve in a mild voice. "It's not just the three of us. I brought a few friends." 

The wall to his right glowed white hot in a thin line that etched out a wide oval. The cut out piece fell forward with a _clang_ sending more Kree surging away from that side of the room. The opening framed a suit of red and gold armor, wider and bulkier than Tony's normal suit. To one side stood a man in a face mask with wide red eyes, a green skinned woman with a sword and what appeared to be...a raccoon riding a tree? On the other stood Black Widow, Falcon and another green-skinned alien, this time a hugely muscular man with raised red patterns on his skin. 

Another noise, this time from the main doorway, driving the Kree back away from it. They were now bunched into two groups, against the far wall of the room, which was apparently an external wall, based on the lack of doors. The main door was abruptly a coruscating wall of electricity. It shorted out and whipped open. Thor strode in, all regal Asgardian majesty--his cape was actually waving-- only slightly undercut by Bruce Banner scrambling along behind him like a puppy; Bucky moved to stand with them . Steve backed off, away from the Kree, gentle herding Bobbi and Clint with him. In a moment the Avengers and the strangers had made a single line blocking the groups of Kree access to any exits. Natasha and Bruce firmly took the Bartons in hand, pulling them off behind the bulk of Iron Man's armor and...the tree, explaining who the Guardians were in the process. 

Ronan stomped forward, snarling. "Take the vermin and go then, Captain. Take them and go and we will come hunting all of you in the next breath. The Pursuer Corps will relish the challenge, as brief as it will be." 

Captain America looked across the empty space between them and slowly pulled down his cowl with both hands, standing barefaced in front of the massive Kree. He just stared in silence and it spread from him like a ring in the surface of a still pond, till the crowd of dozens of Kree were all frozen in something like dumb fascination. 

Bucky moved over to offer him his shield back and he shook his head, then moved a few feet away from this team mates and allies. "There's going to be no pursuit Ronan, but that's something for a little later. Right now...right now, you and I are going to...going to have a reckoning." 

"You pathetic cur. I am Ronan, Supreme Accuser of the Kree Empire. I am not going to fight you in some scrappy little street brawl for territory or your freedom--" 

"That's not what I'm saying," Steve said, his voice low and soft but carrying clearly. "This isn't a challenge or a ruse or a way for one of us to win." He took another few steps forward and more than a few of the Kree backed away as he did, marooning 

Ronan and his elite out in front of the group. "You had us kidnapped for daring to defend our planet. You tortured Mockingbird for beating you fair and square. You were going to execute Hawkeye to hurt her even more. You've enslaved and decimated whole planets for the crime of not wanting to bow down before the Kree empire. You. Are. A. Bully." 

Steve raised his hands in front of him like a boxer. _**"I don't like bullies."** _ He kept walking forward, till he was only a few paces from the massive Kree. 

Ronan sneered. "I'm not going fist fight you, little human." 

"Well, then I guess this is going to be really simple," Steve returned. And started throwing punches. 

Contrary to his declaration, Ronan didn't hesitate to punch back. Tanalth, Korath and a few of the guards started forward. 

"Ah ah ah!" shouted Star Lord and Iron Man at the same time, painting the group with laser targeting spots, halting them. Thor tossed Mjolnir from hand to hand, letting his lightning arc across the space behind it and they backed off further. 

Bobbi and Clint emerged in their uniforms, complete with weapons. They both looked like death still but Clint in particular was standing taller, now that he had his bow in his hand. Bruce Banner was carefully, methodically breaking the two neural inducers he'd just removed from their spines—with a razor blade and some topical analgesic—into little tiny pieces and then stomping on them. 

The rest of both teams were staring in pride (the Avengers) and awe (the Guardians) at Steve Rogers as he beat Ronan the Accuser like he was racking up a high score on a video game. 

Steve was nearly two feet shorter than the Kree and several hundred pounds lighter. But he had three things going for him: skill, speed and boundless fury. 

Four, really: he sparred the God of Thunder on a regular basis. 

Steve didn't hold back or test out his opponent in the slightest. He just started wailing on the Kree warlord and never let up. But that didn't mean he wasn't thinking. 

His first punches were to the torso, before the bigger man could get his guard down: angled, precise blows to the joints of Ronan's armor, at hips and side, caving in the metal and polymer enough to restrict movement. As that took effect, slowing the Kree even further Steve started to peacock. Probably only the other Avengers noticed it but he wasn't simply throwing punches to take Ronan down. He was trying to humiliate him. 

It worked, mostly. Ronan was no coward; he fought back. He landed more than one good blow in the midst of being pummeled by the human, splitting Steve's bottom lip, bruising his face, breaking his ribs. But he could have broken Steve's arm and it wouldn't have mattered. Steve had the bit in his teeth, righteous rage in his heart and an audience of billions. 

That was what Rocket was doing, gleefully skipping from shoulder to shoulder along the line of heros, controlling the broadcast drones Jarvis had hijacked and delivered to him gift wrapped: broadcasting the event to any one who would watch. 

Twice members of his elite tried again to interfere. Bucky stopped a trio of guards with a skipping throw of the shield. The second attempt was a solo screaming charge by Tanalth. 

Clint put an arrow through both her legs at the calf, sending her crashing to the ground behind the now half-kneeling Ronan. 

"That felt obscenely good," he said with a big happy sigh. Bobbi, unsteady and increasingly grey in the face, patted him on the shoulder. 

Steve was coming into his end game, having driven Ronan onto one knee, then both knees and down to his head height. That put his face--the only unarmored part of him--at Steve's mercy. Steve didn't even bother to punch him with both hands, just his right fist rising and falling like a piston at blurring speed, coming up coated in thick blue blood as he reopened the wound Bobbi had bitten into his cheek. 

Steve stepped back, breathing hard, his pale face spattered with blue and red. Ronan swayed on his knees, barely conscious. Korath and Phylla-Vell tentatively started forward and Steve backed off further, letting them drag their master back into the group of cowed and terrified Kree. Then he turned all the way around and walked several steps closer to his people, Bucky casually tossing him the shield, which he set firmly onto his forearm. He threw a quizzical look at Iron Man and got a big nod in response. A smiled flickered from one side of this mouth to the other; he turned to Thor--another nod. His third look was to Star Lord, who holstered his element gun with a grin and a nod of his own. 

Steve pulled his cowl back up. 

It was Captain America who turned and planted his feet in a purely military stance, ridgid and strong. "Whomever is in charge over there, do you have a way to evacuate this ship?" 

"Of course!" yelled Korath in exasperation. 

"You might want to activate your procedures then," Steve retorted. He raised the shield into the air. "Avengers ... _DIS_ assemble." 

Mojlnir streaked over suddenly panicked and terrified Kree and exited the exterior wall of the ship. For a moment, there was a shriek of air being vented into vacuum and then the self repair systems took over. 

Steve called out again. "You know that's coming back here, right?" 

Thor and Bruce moved away from the main door, which turned instantly into a heaving scrum of Kree desperate to get away. Both teams casually grouped up as Tanalth and Galen-Kor were helped out of the room by pairs of guards. Ronan was being hoisted on the shoulders of about six more. Korath was standing with his hands down, looking stunned. Bobbi, her skin tone now blending ashen grey with a festive green tint, was talking urgently to Natasha, Bucky listening over her shoulder. 

He suddenly straightened and waved his hand at Iron Man. "You or Rocket know where the medical bays are? Urgent, man." 

Rocket perked up. "Yeah, arm guy, they're thataway," he gestured vaguely upwards. 

"Come on, then. I need to do something, you can show me the way and I bet there's good stuff to steal," Bucky said, shouldering his rifle. He looked at the Bartons. "I'll get it all, I promise." Rocket bounded off Groot's shoulder and landed on Bucky's metal arm, chortling. 

"Don't wait up for us!" the raccoon yelled. "I got two rigs with me if you finish early!" 

Bucky took off at a run, with that startling super soldier swiftness, through the hole Iron Man had cut in the wall. Rocket was sitting up on his shoulder, brandishing his gun and laughing. 

"What's he--" Steve started to ask. Mjolnir came back through the opposite wall, with another loud rush of air and Thor caught it with a flourish. Sirens had started deep in the ship, demanding voice speaking urgently in Kree. 

"That's the full evac order, Cap," Iron Man said. 

"James will be fine, Steve. He's running an errand for Bobbi and Clint. We'll explain later," Natasha said. Steve shrugged assent. 

"Over to you then, Star Lord," he said. 

Quill tapped his gauntlet and a wire frame schematic of the Dark Aster appeared in the air above them. It had four pulsing red dots centred on one side.

“So those are the holes the god of hammers over there has already made,” he pointed at the red dots. Then he punched a few buttons and more dots appeared down the length of the ship, connected with red lines, like stitching. “We need to make these holes all inside a few minutes of each other and then—well, you all tell me four eyes over there takes over?” He gestured at Bruce Banner, who grimaced but nodded.

“Well then,” Quill said. “Everyone who’s anyone, grab some explosives.”

Bucky’s voice cut in over the integrated coms. “I’ve laid a few on the way here.” A number of the dots started to pulse.

“Awesome. Let’s do this.”

*****

Clint and Bobbi stayed put, along with Thor and Banner. Cap, Widow, Iron Man and Falcon all paired up with Guardians and went careening through the Dark Aster, scattering the remaining Kree and their underlings as they went. Bucky re appeared just before the teams started coming back. He had a case in one hand and Rocket sitting on his head.

He trotted over to the Bartons and flipped the case open. Bobbi, swaying even with Clint supporting her, touched the small glass discs stacked inside, counting visibly. 

“Yes, I think. I don’t remember them drawing more than this anyway,” she sagged against Clint who staggered a little. “Oh thank you so much.”

“What are those?” Bruce asked.

“Blood and tissues samples, stuff they took from us. Ronan told me he could…they could use it to make clones of us and I don’ know maybe he was lyin’ but—” Clint swallowed hard and turned away. His grip on Bobbi half-slipped and she half-pulled free, dropping suddenly to her knees and vomiting. A second later he was copying her. Bucky grabbed him by the arm and made sure he didn’t fall into his own sick; Bruce did the same for Bobbi. 

When they were back on their feet, just as the others were arriving back at the bay, Bobbi gestured to the case she’d left sitting on the floor. “Thor, please. Burn it to ash. Please. I have to be sure.”

“With pleasure, lady Barton.”

When that was done, Natasha approached them with two bundles of tech in her hands. “These slip over shoulders. I’ll active them for you.”

Dully, both Bartons took objects, which resolved into chest and back pieces with a thin collar. Everyone but Thor, Bruce and Iron Man were setting their own.

Iron Man raised his hand. “Last escape ship is away, Cap.”

“Excellent.” Captain America looked at Star Lord. “You want the honors?”

“Aw, hell yes.” He touched his head piece, his red eyed mask materializing on his face. “Mr Thor sir? Light the fuse.”

Thor smiled, tossing Mjolnir in his hand once, twice, then wound up and threw it straight up, riding it through the bulkheads into empty space. Bruce took off his glasses and handed them to Natasha. 

Everyone touched a control on their rigs (Nat did Bobbi and Clint’s before her own) and each Avenger and Guardian — even Groot — was suddenly encased in a personal protective shield. 

Seconds later, the exterior walls of the ship lit up with blue and white lightning.

Explosions started, ringing down the empty corridors, everything not nailed down suddenly whipping through the air as the atmosphere inside the ship vented into space. 

Banner opened his arms and … folded outwards. In a single heartbeat Hulk stood before them all. The com systems transmitted the shock and awe of the Guardians.

“I had assumed the little man was useless!” Drax cried. 

“Can we bottle that?” Yelled Rocket. “It’d be worth a fortune.”

“Now, that is impressive,” Gamora said quietly.

“I am Groot.” 

“Hulk,” said Captain America. “Smash.”

Hulk threw his head back and roared, the sound already thin and quiet as there was very little air to transmit it through. He gathered himself and charged forward, smashing though walls, bulkheads, anything in his way. A second charge of lightning hit the exterior wall as he disappeared; then a third a few moments later as the wire frame diagram Star Lord was still displaying showed the moving green dot exiting the far end of the ship.

The Dark Aster…disintegrated.

From the drones Rocket still controlled, the image flashed out into the galaxy. On a hundred worlds enslaved by the Kree, eyes watched and saw their oppressors beaten, humiliated. 

As the Dark Aster turned into nothing more than a cloud of junk in deep space, the message it spread behind itself was … hope.

 

*****

_**Epilogue** _

Steve Rogers plunked himself with uncharacteristic clumsiness onto the railing next to Bobbi. She was sitting on it with her back to the private room in the giant space…bar… the Guardians had brought them too. The whole side wall was a display of the radiation belt just outside the massive space station they were on. The railing was set a few feet off the actual surface.

Colours swirled in her eyes like neon tie dye but they couldn’t cover up her distress. 

“Sis?” He asked in that voice he only used when he was really not thinking about himself much, all kid-from-Brooklyn, light and tentative. “You ‘kay?”

“Short answer: no; long answer: I will be,” she looked at him. He was swaying gently. “Are you _drunk_?”

“Pro’bly?” He said, looking down at the neon purple concoction in his hand. “This shhhhhtuff Drax bought me is pre’y strong.” The vague look in his eyes faded. “Doesn’t last that long though,” he sighed in his normal voice. 

Bobbi laughed in a startled way. “Remind me to get a sample of that before we leave. I can think of at least two conversations I’d rather have with you when you’re hammered.” 

He gave her a wary look, then swallowed half his glass. 

“Oh. My. God. You’re so damn Caucasian I can see the drunk flush spreading with your heartbeat.”

“M’not flushed. M’warm.”

“You look like a teenager at his after-prom party.”

“Sha. Dup.”

Bobbi looked over her shoulder at the big group clustered around the table with drinks and food. 

Clint was on a high stool, leaning against Nat, still shaky and weak. He had a skewer of something in one hand and a drink in the other. He, Sam and Bucky were talking with a calm ease that hadn’t existed before. Bruce joined them, pulling Groot along. Thor wandered up, Rocket hanging upside down from his hammer slung over one shoulder, both of them laughing. Star Lord, Gamora, Drax and Tony were playing some strange card game that Star Lord was _clearly_ cheating at…and still losing. 

“We got lucky again, big brother. So desperately, un deservedly lucky.” She shook her head and looked back into space. “We should all be dead or enslaved. Because of me.” She ducked her chin, her shoulders hunching,

“Oh, shut the hell up,” Steve said in a sober voice, then tossed back the last of his drink. “No su’ thing as luck annnyway. You ma’e luck. Annn whhat was you supposed to dooooo? Commit geno…gen…gen o cide?” He finished in the precise, laboured tones of a man trying hard to over come his intoxication. “I don’ wanna you to do that.”

She stared at him, a tiny smile just at the corners of her mouth. “You don’wanna? Well I guess that’s an order then.”

“Like you do any’thin’ I say,” he muttered, fake aggrieved. “Golly, B’bbi you bein’ your self means pe’ple—well, aliens—rose up and freed ‘selves. Tha’s…tha’s worth all this!”

He leaned over and grabbed her arm, his face and eyes clearing of the intoxicants. “You helped change worlds, sis. Nothing’s ever going to change that. And we’re…we’re okay. So it’s all well and good.”

She covered his big hand with her, small strong fingers digging into his skin. “What happens when we’re not okay? What happens when we can’t make our own luck anymore?”

“Then we keep going,” he said firmly, pulling her head down onto his shoulder and rest his chin on her hair. “We keep fighting till we can’t fight any more and we leave a trail of bread crumbs behind us so the next fighters know we were there. We keep fighting, win or lose, until we fall for good or we win. Nothing else matters.” He shook her a little. “So stop with the god damn suicide attempts you idiot.”

“Language,” she said into his shoulder, her voice filled with laughter and tears in equal measure.

They would get started back to Earth soon enough. But right here, right now, Steve and Bobbi leaned on each other and remembered why they were Avengers in the first place.

They were family.


End file.
